Love within the Hour
by RosesInJamJars
Summary: Modern AU. The quirky tale of Sybil Crawley's grand life adventure- in which messing things up is worryingly common, but never before has it been so important not to be. Contains copious amounts of hiding behind pot plants, tripping over, and friends spiralling out of control.
1. Chapter 1

He was sitting on the bench across the room from her with a group of what appeared to be mates having a drink. He was odd, she thought. It was a post match drink. The others were all wearing scarves and stupid hats with the names of Football teams emblazoned across them, while his scarf had the name of a Gaelic football team. He also seemed to be in a different world than the others- he was part of the conversation and yet he wasn't, fitting perfectly into the natural environment in a general glance, but after having studied him for a while, you realized that he wasn't. He was special, he was different. He was sitting with his back to the window- his large shoulders and upper arms outlined in the evening glow. As he turned his head, she caught sight of his profile in the orange sunlight, his features striking her as desperately attractive. He lifted up his glass and took another swig of beer, and laughed at something a ginger-haired friend had said. His reply was caught up in a break of conversation of the other residents of the pub, and she caught a brief hint of Irish. She felt her body growing weak- she hadn't felt like this since she'd been a celebrity-struck teenage girl. The door of the pub opened with a predominant screech, and a group of women piled inside, all huddled into their coats, hiding from the cold. They approached the group where he was, and immediately he jumped up, walking over to greet them, and engulfing the nearest woman in an embrace, sealing it with a kiss on the cheek. Sybil sighed in disappointment- how she'd hoped that he was single. But soon, much to her delight, the woman joined the rest of his friends on the table sitting in the lap of the ginger-haired friend. The other friends followed suit (to their applicable partners) and left him sitting out of it again, framed by the window. His hair caught the sunlight, and she saw blonde, before she was jerked back into reality by her sister.

"Sybil, please tell Mary that Doctor Who is better than Torchwood." Edith begged, casting a glare at her other sister.

"You're only saying that because of your twig-like humanoid over here." Mary argued, gesturing to Edith's actor boyfriend, David. David looked up at the mention of his name, and then went back to his bored reverie. Sybil found herself mumbling something incoherent, and turning back to stare at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the ginger haired friend giving her an odd look, then nudging _him_ on the arm, and pointing at her. Immediately she snapped her gaze away, and turned back to the rest of her party- her two sisters, David, Matthew, Anna, John, Daisy and William, who were all looking at her.

"You've never drooled over a bloke in a pub before in your life, have you?" William asked drily. Daisy giggled and pressed her face into William's shoulder, while the others hid their laughs more successfully than Daisy. Sybil cleared her throat in embarrassment and tucked a lock of raven hair behind her ear. The conversation turned, and she pretended to join in, while she quickly stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye.

He was staring at her now- his hands clasped around an empty beer glass, and a small smile lighting his masculine features. Her heart accelerated its pace, and her stomach began jumping. She distracted herself from these feelings by swallowing the remainder of her drink and standing up, offering to buy the next round. Anna looked at her, pityingly.

"We bought a new one two minutes ago, but you were a bit distracted." The others stifled laughter while Sybil blushed bright red. Intending to venture to the bar, she twirled around, and came face to face with _him_. Her heart nearly popped it was beating so fast, and she didn't think that she was quite in control of all her faculties. And then he smiled. All independent thought drained away from her brain in one moment, and nothing else in the room was quite there anymore.

"Hello," He greeted in the same Irish brogue that she'd heard before, and he seemed rather amused at her reaction. "My name's Tom. Tom Branson. I couldn't help seeing you over here... can I buy you a drink?" She thought that she might have nodded, though she couldn't be too sure- suddenly he was the only thing that mattered.

Ladies didn't fall in love within an hour, did they?


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you to all you lovely reviewers and favouriters/alerters! Those reviews and co. made my day, they really did :) I'm sorry this took so long to appear, I've been a bit frazzled lately.  
>This capter is very different to the last one- I'm a bit unsure of how it will go, but I like it, so there's a start.<br>And if anybody complains about my portrayal of William, I feel obliged to let you know that I will not change how he is in this for ANYTHING!  
>Lots of love, and I hope you enjoy :)<strong>_

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><p>It had taken her the best part of half an hour to gather her wits, and not act like a complete idiot. He'd asked her what she'd wanted to drink, but she couldn't make herself talk. She'd flushed red with embarrassment, and tried to hide her face, but he'd grinned at her, and told her that she was adorable. After a drink or two, she was conversing with him easily, as though she'd been doing it her entire life. She was surprised how well the two of them fitted with each other, they could talk and talk about what seemed like nothing important forever, and they had lots of things in common: for instance they'd done the same course (she was currently taking it) at the same university with the same professor, they had common interests, and he even shared her love of sci-fi that she'd inherited from her noble sci-fi loving family.<p>

In their little corner of the pub, sitting opposite each other at the tiny table was imprinting on her mind. She loved the little things he did, and the quirks of his personality. The way that he laughed, how he employed the use of the word 'blimey', though with his thick accent it sounded more like 'bloimey'. He explained that he was a mechanic, for now at least. He was planning upon delving into the mad world of politics, once he was financially stable, though being a mechanic did aid him in acquiring muscles. She asked for a demonstration, and he flexed them for her, she found herself giggling like a school girl again. As he lifted up one of the cardboard coasters on the table, she caught a glimpse of his wrist beneath the open cuffs of his shirt, and frowned.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked, as he wheeled the coaster around the table.

"Of course."

"How did you get that scar on your wrist?" She asked. His face turned grey, and immediately she regretted asking. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No it's alright." He assured her, a small smile reappearing on his face. "It's a bit gruesome, but." She nodded, and he hesitated a moment, before rolling up his sleeve. An ugly red scar ran from his wrist to just past his elbow. She gasped slightly, and touched the base of it, at his wrist.

"How did that happen?" She asked, paling.

"As a baby..." he began, but then he spied something behind her, and he hurriedly covered the scar again. She frowned and turned around, just in time to see his ginger haired friend approach with a crazy grin on his face.

"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy!" He jeered tipsily. "You showin' 'er the scar, you mus' like 'er then." He slurred. Tom cast an apologetic glance in her direction, and was about to say something, when the woman that he'd greeted earlier in the evening appeared behind the redhead, and grabbed him by the shoulders, roughly hauling him away.

"Honestly Sarah, you're a Branson, you should be a natural at controlling drunken men." Tom jested playfully, and she sent him a dirty look. She had Tom's hair and nose, but dark brown eyes.

"Oh shut up Tommy." She snapped, and then turned to Sybil. "If you're planning upon marrying my brother, you have to be a fan of Doctor Who, are you then?" She asked. Sybil was rather taken aback by this girl's forwardness.

"Well, yes I'm a fan, but I only met him an hour or so-" Sarah waved her hand.

"Stop talking, I'm bored. See you round, brother." With that she grabbed the drunken ginger whom appeared to be trying to feel up a chair, and dragged him to the door. She looked around at Tom, stunned, and he looked at her apologetically.

"God, I'm so sorry- my sister, she's alright when she's sober, but when she's had a few too many she can be a bit, well-"

"Don't worry about it." He smiled gratefully. "So, how come your sister is living here too?" She asked once he'd taken a much needed gulp of beer.

"Once I'd finished my uni course, and gotten my citizenship and whatnot, she decided that I was far away enough from the rest of the family for her to run away to. She'd just turned eighteen, it was the day after her birthday, and she appeared on my doorstep in the middle of the night. Gave me the fright of my life." She laughed at the expression on his face as he delved into the treasure trove of his memories. She thought that she'd better not bring the scar up again after the interruption, he'd looked quite upset. She looked down at her glass, and when she looked back up at him, he was smiling at her promisingly. She didn't want to tempt fate- she really liked Tom, and she was a bit scared of admitting to herself of her suspicions that he might like her too. After a moment in which he smiled and she stared bashfully at his hands, he began to speak.

"I don't suppose-"

Suddenly a very tinny version of Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts began playing, and he cursed (in Gaelic, apparently, though she highly doubted that), pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"Sorry, it's work." He apologized. She nodded, and played with her empty glass as he stood up and answered his phone, moving away from the table. In a few seconds, he was back, retrieving his jacket.

"Something wrong?" She asked, un-able to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"Somebody's driven their car into a tree- it has to be towed." He hastily pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket, and scrawled something on the back of a coaster, and handed it to her. "Give me a call, if you like." She nodded.

"You can count on it." List of stupid things Sybil Crawley said #1. She closed her eyes, and slapped herself on the forehead. He laughed, and drew her hand away from her face, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Sybil." He whispered, in a deep seductive voice. "And I apologize for the hasty farewell." And then he was gone, with a creak of the door.

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><p>She awoke the next morning in her large bed at Grantham house, with the curtains being wrenched open, and people diving on her bed. The only words that immediately came to mind were:<p>

"SOD OFF!" She screamed, louder than intended, and she buried her head under the ridiculously extensive amount of duvet. After a moment of treasured silence, the covers were peeled back, very slowly, and the tiny hand of Daisy began tapping her on the head.

"Wakey wakey!" She sing-songed. Sybil groaned something incoherent even to herself, and pushed her face further into the mattress. Another hand grabbed her blanketed arm and began shaking her.

"Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up." Matthew began chorusing, jumping up and down on his knees. Edith seemed content in joining in this ritualistic torture.

"Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up." They commanded. Soon, all four were jumping up and down on Sybil's bed, chorusing for her to get her backside out of bed. After a minute or so, Sybil viciously threw back the cover and shrieked.

"I'M UP!" Her vicious assault on the covers sent Matthew tumbling to the floor, and landing in a undignified heap, while Edith slipped and rolled off the foot of the bed. Mary wobbled violently, and Daisy jumped off smartly as to avoid any danger. The room was filled with an awkward silence, while everybody picked themselves up. From the table, next to the door, William (who had been lurking un-noticed in the corner) suddenly turned around with a cup of tea on a saucer, and his best butler-mask on, handing her the beverage. No sooner had she accepted the cup in a disgruntled mood, did William's face crack, and carefully held back hysterical giggles filled the room. The rest of her siblings, cousin and best friend joined in, and Sybil leaned back on the pillows grumpily.

"I hate you all." She announced into her tea. Mary sat gracefully on the side of the bed, and passed her a manila folder. Sybil placed her cup on her bed-side table and took the folder from her sister.

"I'm assuming that I drunk more than I remember last night?" Sybil asked. "Otherwise I wouldn't have ended up here." She said, gesturing around the room. Usually, she didn't stay at the city house where her parents were currently living, but when she'd had a bit too much and somebody had to take her home from the pub, she found that she usually ended up here.

"Not exactly," Edith supplied, flopping down on the bed on her other side.

"See, you were intoxicated, but not drunk. You just kept giggling and smiling and couldn't think properly." Matthew clarified. Sybil thought for a moment. Finally, it all came rushing back to her. Meeting Tom, making a fool of herself, being dragged home by an embarrassed John and Anna, while David mocked her playfully in his perfect actor's Irish accent, and not registering any of it because she was too caught up with acting like a giddy school girl. Thinking about Tom seemed to lead her mind astray, and she got caught up in the memories of last night. The way he talked, laughed, that scar, the way he kissed her hand goodnight, the phone number-

"Where's my bag?" She asked suddenly, snapping her head up. She spotted it beside her bed and dived at it, rummaging through it. She found some old coins, a broken tube of lip balm, a clothes peg, three memory cards, a business card, a hairbrush, some pieces of ribbon, a few old leaflets, and a single shoe. But no coaster. "Where is it? Where's it gone? I can't have lost it, I can't, I can't, I can't, I can-"

"Calm down." Mary assured her, in her cool voice, as she seemingly produced the coaster out of thin air. Sybil immediately snatched it out of her sister's grasp, and gripped it tightly. The others leaned back uncertainly.

"My precious." Came a Gollum-esque voice from below the foot of the bed. After a second, William's ever smiling face appeared pleased with his comment on Sybil's actions. Everybody looked at him, then turned back to whatever they were doing before, without so much as the blink of an eye. After some time, William's weirdness became normal. Edith looked up from the magazine she was reading, and looked at the coaster.

"Mary's done a check on him already." She informed Sybil, though she appeared to be addressing the coaster. Mary sat by with her ice maiden face on, expressionless. Matthew continued lounging on the foot of her bed like an obedient puppy, William kept examining one of the more exotic pairs of shoes from Sybil's wardrobe in confusion as to how it went onto the foot and what the hell it was meant to look like- it being the fruits of Daisy's labours and favourite hobby while she was in Sybil's bedroom- riffling through Sybil's extensive wardrobe. Sybil realized that this must be what was in the folder, and hurriedly tore to open.

He was twenty six years old- yes he'd told her that.

Born in Ireland- yes- current English citizenship –yes- university degree at Oxford –yes-.

Labour voter –yes, a debate about the current political situation had confirmed this quite strongly-, Mechanic- yes-.

There was one thing, however, which leaped out at her from the page.

"His father was in the IRA?" She asked herself- out loud as well it seemed.

"Didn't tell you that, did he?" Mary asked, coldly. Sybil rolled her eyes.

"Mary, you mustn't disapprove of every man I like that isn't a lord or Prince Harry or whatever." Sybil scolded gently.

"And yet I do. Now as for Prince Harry, I do have his phone-"

"I am not going to marry some old fart for his money! I don't care if he's Lord Whitebum or whatever, if I don't love him, no marriage. Life is not all about status symbols!"

"It could be about pleasing one's parents though." Mary argued.

"They would rather I be happy than marry a man who I didn't love." Sybil snapped. "I mean look at William! Daisy's not religious, and he thought that his grandparents would flay him alive for going out with somebody who doesn't believe in God, yet they were happy for him, because he was happy." Once more, all eyes went to William, who was trying to tie a gladiator sandal around Daisy's head, much to her annoyance.

"Yet he still didn't tell you that his father was in the IRA, did he?" snapped Mary.

"Well that's hardly something that you'd tell a girl on a first meeting." Matthew interjected. "He was probably nervous as well, considering you were watching him like a hawk the entire evening." Matthew defended, with an accusatory glare at his wife, who glared back at him playfully.

"I agree with Matthew." Edith muttered, without looking up from the latest exploits of Harry Styles and whether or not he was getting back with Caroline Flack.

"Outnumbered!" Sybil cried, joyously.

"We haven't found out what Daisy and William think yet!" Mary warned. Once more, everybody looked up to see William dancing around the room with one of Sybil's ball gowns (bought by her mother, much to Sybil's annoyance) clutched to his chest while Daisy giggled un-controllably. Without a blink, everyone looked back.

"Well Mary, I don't actually care what you think this time." Sybil informed her sister, as she pulled away the covers and rose from the bed. "I really, really like this one."

And just to prove her point, she picked up her iPhone, and dialled his number. After a few rings, he picked up.

"Hullo?" He answered.

"Tom? It's Sybil."

"Oh hello! I'm sorry about having to leave so early last night, how are you..." Just hearing his voice made her feel like she could melt. In a matter of minutes, they'd set up another date for that very night, at the same pub. She hung up, and placed the phone down.

"He didn't tell me about his father being a rebel, and I didn't tell him about mine being a lord." She informed her sister spitefully, as she breezed into the ensuite, tactfully ignoring William trying to juggle with a stiletto, a battered old Chuck Taylor, and an espadrille.

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><p><em><strong>Please review xx<strong>_


	3. Chapter 3

_**I know. I won't try and explain it as I will just sound isguided and oronic (I' going without using the letter that goes at the start of the words isguided and oronic) but just blae y school. They suck. End of story. **_

_**Thank you for those who reviewed, and favourited, you ade y day(s)! Please enjoy Xx**_

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><p>After shooing everyone bar Daisy from her bedroom, the two of them set about finding something for Sybil to wear that night. Deciding that she was either under or over dressed for the occasion, she had changed four times before she settled on an outfit, and by then it was time to leave. She was determined this was going to work. This was not going to be another flop. She was going to tell him about her parents. It was all going to be fine. Nothing was going to go wrong. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.<p>

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><p><em>12:17 am.<em>

It went wrong.

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><p><em>7 pm.<em>

She stood in the doorway of the pub for a good few minutes, just staring at the door handle, before a disgruntled patron opened the door for her and glared at her pointedly, indicating that she ought to come in. She smiled awkwardly at them, and rushed past, scanning the room for Tom, who she spotted at the same table they'd been at last night, playing around on an old Nokia. She applied her best _I'm not so nervous because I want this to work face _and breezed up to the table.

"Hi Tom!"

He looked up at her.

"So you figured out how to use the door handle, then."

Shit.

"Erm..."

"Don't worry 'bout it." He said with a grin, and stood up to pull her chair out for her. "So how are you?" He asked when she was sat down.

And before she knew it, "I'm fine. I'm great! I'm breezy!"

List of stupid things Sybil Crawley said #2

"Breezy?"

"...No."

"But you said-"

"Did I? Huh. Weird place, the world, isn't it? Just the other day I was reading this thing about-"

"Sybil," he interrupted, reaching across the table and grabbing her hand gently. "Are you nervous?"

"Nervous? No! Me! I'm cool, I'm fine, I'm-"

"Breezy?"

"Yes- No, no, no, no, no, no, no."

He frowned at her for a moment.

"Well maybe a little bit."The next thing she knew, he laughed and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"There's no need to be, honestly." He assured her, caressing her hand with his thumb, in a way that made shivers go down her spine.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't want to mess this up!" He looked down at his scarred wrist and smirked happily. "What?" She asked. He looked up at her sideways.

"Neither did I."

Sybil couldn't remember a time that she'd ever felt less solid on the inside.

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><p><em>9:36 pm. <em>

"...turns out she was keeping deep fryer fat in the back of her car like something from the Simpsons, and it had began to leak, and that was why-"

"She thought it was haunted!" Sybil finished, and they both cracked up. Sybil couldn't remember the last time she'd ever had so much fun on a date- usually when that guy talked about his work he ended up ranting about the laziness of his employees and their casual disregard for money, but tonight she actually found herself listening to Tom talk about the crazy things that he'd been a part of, and hadn't gone to sleep on the table while he kept talking. *cough* *cough*

"So, what about you?" He asked, suddenly, continuing to wheel the coaster around the table.

"Me?" She repeated, clicking her tongue as she thought. "Well, I'm at uni, so I'm not really doing anything else- except watching sorrowful amounts of Doctor Who and Torchwood."

"So your parents are supporting you?" Tom asked.

"Pretty much."

"Lucky." He muttered. "Mam told me she'd club me like a baby seal if I quit my job at the coffee shop."

She leaned back slightly, eyes wide.

"She's not always... politically correct. Only sometimes. Or all the time."

Sybil giggled, and looked up at him. Oh, sod it.

"Well, if I worked in a coffee shop, Mother would probably have a heart attack, so it's easier to go with the system than fight it, you know?"

"Not really." They both chuckled.

"Look," she began, drawing a large breath, "there's something I haven't told you. About my family." He looked up from wheeling, and gave her an intent listening face. "See, I'm from an old family. Like a really, really old one. Like a really, really, really, really-"

"Old one?"

"Yep." She finished. She fiddled with the hem of her turquoise blouse.

"So, an aristocratic family."

"Yep."

"So your parents are-"

"Me too. I'm Lady Sybil Crawley."

"Oh."

"Could be worse, you know. I could be Lady Grantham."

"Oh."

Silence filled the room. Well, not the whole room, just their little corner of it.

"I would have told you before, but I got nervous, and-"

"Sybil, its fine, honestly, it's just a bit of a shock that's, all." But naturally, her stupid rambling nervous brain kept going, and hadn't registered what he'd said.

"I mean, I knew about your Dad, and you didn't know about mine, and Mary went mad, and I-"

"How do you know about my Dad?"

List of Stupid things Sybil Crawley said #3.

Everything seemed amplified. The laughter of a party in the other corner of the room, the clink of glasses being polished behind the bar, the crackle of the fire, everything seemed loud and scary, and all Sybil wanted to do was curl up in a ball under the table and cry. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her pounding heart.

She closed her eyes, and brushed imaginary lint off her jeans, readying herself.

"I'm sorry, I really am." She began, pausing to open her eyes and look up him. He didn't have an expression on his face. It would have been better if she could see he was cross or sad or annoyed or what, but not knowing what he was thinking made it even more difficult. "My sister works in the government. She's really caught up with the public image of the Crawleys and all that sort of thing, and last night she... erm... well..." she trailed off, and pulled the coaster from her bag. "You put your full name and phone number on here. She kind of... did a background check on you."

Tom exhaled and placed his face in his hands, and Sybil began to prepare herself for the worst. She really wanted this to go well. Really badly. Tom took his hands away from his face, but didn't look at her.

"Your sister, that the dark haired one who was glaring at me all of last night?" Thinking back to what Matthew said, Sybil nodded vigorously. Then remembering that Tom couldn't see her head, she responded with a

"Yep." He smiled and looked up.

"That's cool. Well, not really, that's bloody terrifying, but I believe you. And now, I don't have to tell you myself because you already know!" He grinned happily, and went back to wheeling the coaster around.

"Buh..." Sybil couldn't make any sense of this at all. Tom looked up at her again, and seemed content to aid her confusion.

"It seems like the sort of thing she might do." He supplied, only succeeding in confusing her more.

"What? Do you and Mary know each other?" She asked.

"Well, she knows me very well by now," he began and Sybil nodded. "But I don't know her. Just I can sort of guess her personality."

Sybil nodded. "Talk to me properly, or I'll... smash the floor with your phone." She threatened. Tom laughed and scratched his neck.

"She's sitting behind the potted fern."

"What?"

"She's been there since before you got here. Nice shoes, by the way."He said, pointing to the fern beside the booth they'd been sitting in the night before, where Sybil indeed did spot a glamorous pair of shoes quickly retract behind the pot.

"Oh god..." Sybil muttered, taking her turn to place her head in her hands.

"Aaand, her husband I think he must have been is behind you on the other side of the bar," he continued pointing who where a familiar blonde head ducked swiftly down under the mahogany bar top, leaving an abandoned pint in its wake. "and the blonde one and the bloke with the walking stick are over there wearing stupid hats," he continued, pointing to a couple beside the window across the room from them staring adoringly into each other's eyes- John had even adopted a false beard for the occasion. "and the funny one's over there talking on the phone to a romantic interest," he said pointing to William who was sitting in the windy spot beside the door with a gooey expression on his face- as well as a pair of Ray bans (which Sybil immediately identified as being from her own wardrobe), a fedora and black tie over the top of his t-shirt, men in black style. "and of course, your other sister and her boyfriend. Though, I'll admit, bringing him wasn't such a bright idea- it's rather difficult to miss David Tennant, you know." He finished, and she looked up to see a large smile playing across his lips.

"I'm gonna kill them." She whimpered. He laughed and gently wrapped a hand around her wrist, pulling it down from her head. "They didn't hear all that breezy stuff, did they?"She mumbled.

"It's nice that they care so much." He assured her, sliding his hand down to meet her own, tactfully ignoring her question, but she could tell from his expression that they indeed had. She smiled, and then turned her head around and announced to the rest of the pub.

"An untimely end will come to anybody who is here to spy on me unless they are gone by the time I count to one." None of them moved. "Crap," she muttered, "what's an untimely end I can use?" she asked, wincing.

"I've got an idea." He murmured, smiling coyly. She cocked an eyebrow in question. And that was when he leaned across the table and kissed her.

She had to hand it to Katy Perry. She really knew what she was talking about. Sybil felt the 'fireworks' exploding inside her, the feeling of his lips on hers made her feel like they were the only things in the world that mattered. The laughter, clinking and crackling seemed to totally fade away, and the only thing that she really saw, felt, knew was Tom.

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><p><em>11:13 pm. <em>

"So, I had fun tonight." Tom said, as they stopped by the end of her street.

"So did I." Sybil said, leaning on the fence, and smiling up at him. "And I just wanted to say, thanks for not being freaked out by my friends and family, stuff."

"Oh, I am freaked out," he assured her. "Suitably so, but you kiss really well so I can look past it." He joked. They both laughed.

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you to your door?" he offered, gesturing to further down the expensive street.

"No thanks, it's my parent's house, KAOS probably will be there waiting to interrogate me." She replied, and they laughed once more. He bent down and kissed her again.

"Goodnight, 99." He said when they broke apart, their faces inches away from each other's.

"Goodnight Tom." She said, and they walked away from each other. At least they would have, had the window of the house they were in front of not have opened, and the Dowager Countess of Grantham not have shouted.

"Sybil! Stop canoodling and go home or I'll tell your young man that you watch that show with the singing dancing thirty year old teenagers!" The window slammed closed and the curtains drew closed abruptly. An awkward silence ensued.

"Your grandmother?" Tom asked.

"Yes." Sybil said, leaning her elbow against the black iron fence of her grandmother's town house, and placing her face in her hand. "I didn't realize this one was her house." She explained.

"Well, that was an experience." Tom replied, waving his hand in farewell. "See you later. I'll call you."

She smiled, and they continued to walk in their opposite directions. Un-able to help herself, she glanced back at him, only to see him looking back at her. She smiled and focused at the ground in front of her feet. Finally, she reached her house, and stood on the steps, hanging off the street lamp, and looked down the street. Sure enough, there he was watching her.

"Go home!" She shouted playfully, then unlocked the door, and twirled inside. Laughing as she rested her body against the black painted door. She felt her phone buzz as it received a message, and she turned it on.

_**Tom Branson**_

_Tonight's Glee is on iView.  
>Xx<em>

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><p><em>12: 18 am.<em>

As she lay in bed that night, she contemplated the evening. Yes, it did go wrong. But yes, it went better than any other date she'd ever had. And she was happy, so happy that she didn't even care when William sent her a shot that he'd taken on his phone of her and Tom kissing in the pub, captioned as 'Breezy'.

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><p><em><strong>I couldn't quite bring y self to make their date go wrong as I'd planned. I hope it wasn't to awful, for soe reason I found it very difficult to write.<strong>_

_**Please Review**_

_**Xx **_


	4. Chapter 4

_**WE DONT HAVE DOWNTON IN AUSTRALIA. I HAVE NOT SEEN IT YET. ANY SPOILERS GIVEN TO ME SHALL RESULT IN ME NOT UPDATING UNTIL I HAVE SEEN ALL OF THEM WHEN I GET THE DVD IN DECEMBER.  
><strong>__**And on that note, please enjoy, sorry about the wait, and please review! **_

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><p>Every month, the entire social group would gather together and watch a movie at John and Anna's house.<p>

In other words, every month, the entire social group would gather together, the women would watch Titanic, and the men would drink beer in the kitchen.

This particular month was no exception. As usual, Sybil ditched the others about five minutes after the opening credits and went to crack open a Corona in the kitchen. She found Leo extremely creepy.

* * *

><p><em>Earlier that day. So early that it was, in fact, the night before...<em>

"You ought to bring Tom along to the movie tomorrow, Syb." Anna told Sybil in her usual motherly way as she flicked Sybil's fringe off her forehead. Sybil shook her head vigorously.

"We've only been seeing each other for three weeks, it'll be weird."

"Oh but you should!" Mary interjected, as she riffled through the racks of dresses before her. "I can't wait to meet Mister Day Dream."

"Mister Glossy Eyes." Edith supplied from afar. "If you're going to go on about him all the time, we ought to meet him."

"Mister Girlie Giggle," Daisy added a coat hanger up to her chin and inspecting the dress against her body. "It's about time we approved him."

"I think you should stop bugging her and go home. Who shops for dresses at six in the evening?" William muttered from under a small mountain of shopping bags that were currently residing in his arms.

"Do I have a say in this?" Sybil snapped, hands on her hips. "He's my boyfriend, I'm very eager for this relationship to proceed in a successful manner, and I do not appreciate you lot trying to make that near impossible!"

"Oh, Sybil darling, of course you have a say!" Anna cried, dropping the hem of a dress which she had been inspecting, and flinging her arms around her friend. "We didn't mean to pressure you, of course you do!"

"So long as your say is yes." Mary informed her, "Otherwise I'll tell my Stepmother about your new beau."

Sybil glared at her for a long moment.

"You wicked woman..." Sybil muttered.

"Daisy, my arm's losing consciousness. If I don't move it soon it'll lose its free will and attack me." William complained.

* * *

><p><em>That evening, which wasn't that evening at all, it was actually the next day's lunchtime...<em>

"Bloody hell!" Tom yelped as Sybil yanked him down into the taxi by his arm, almost pulling the limb from its' socket, and smacking his head against the car roof as he did so. As soon as he was safely inside the cab, Sybil pulled him into a long kiss. They broke apart after a little while, and the driver rolled his eyes.

"Top a' the mornin' to ya." He greeted her with a silly grin. She giggled.

"How are you?"

"Breezy."

"Oh shut up, you." She scolded playfully, poking him in the stomach.

"Make me." She smiled what would later be described as an evil smile and began to tickle him vigorously. Soon they were both rolling around on the back seat in stitches. The driver coughed pointedly and slid the plastic partition closed between the seats. They sat together in comfortable silence for a moment.

"We're turning into a teenage RomCom, aren't we?"

"Oh definitely."She settled comfortably onto his large shoulder, and sighed contentedly.

"So what am I in for this afternoon?" he asked. "Just the usual methods, or are they bringing out the thumb screws?"

"Well," Sybil replied, glancing at her watch, "we're ten minutes late. That means that they'll want to get started, only really give you a passing hello, and then you'll be left at the mercies of the boys until I escape and join you."

He raised an eyebrow.

"You know you love it." He grinned.

"I most certainly do."

He leaned in to kiss her when the driver opened the partition.

"Ten quid, and not in my cab, thanks." Sybil handed the man the note, while both of them turned a deep scarlet.

"Oh, just great, now the blushing? Who do you think you are, eh? Fifteen?" My daughter does the same thing with some hairy freak who supports Arsenal, not to mention-"

The door slammed behind them.

* * *

><p>The norm, upon entering John and Anna's house on a Saturday afternoon, was to walk into a warm, happy environment, where Anna and John were busy looking after people, cooking or engaging in conversation, Mary and Matthew loosening their corsets and enjoying some couple's banter, and William chasing Daisy around the couch. Nice, happy environment, of love and laughter, like a family. A family that Sybil was overjoyed (though she may not show it) to introduce her wonderful boyfriend of a month into.<p>

When Sybil walked in with Tom, she unlocked the door with the key in the pot, and promptly proceeded to trip over a stack of pregnancy books.

"Jesus, are you alright?" Tom asked, concerned, leaning down to help her up. Before she could respond, obstacle the second appeared before them.

"Oh and lord help me! The prodigal boyfriend makes his triumphant appearance! Matthew! Here's a serial wanker, I think you two would really hit it off!" Mary bellowed from the doorway of the kitchen.

"Um." Tome spoke.

"No offence!" Shouted Mary, before storming into the kitchen and slamming the door, from where the sounds of an argument continued loudly and awkwardly.

Daisy sprinted out of the living room at the end of the corridor and ran full pelt into the closed kitchen door. Anna followed quickly after, detouring into the guest bedroom and returning with a bundle of blanket in her arms and returning to the living room. Daisy picked herself up off the floor and followed Anna, not sparing Sybil or Tom a glance. Sybil looked up at Tom, bewildered. Suddenly, William erupted from the sitting room, away from the crowd apparently, complete with bandana around his head, lipstick war paint and a SuperSoaker, he proceeded to leap out of the second floor hallway window with a battle cry of rage.

"SHIT!" Sybil shouted, and she found herself running towards the window, in time to see William attacking a collection of wild cats rummaging through some bins in the courtyard below.

"Is that normal for him?" Tom asked quietly.

"Unfortunately so." Sybil muttered. From the sitting room, she heard more shouting, and followed the noise. The scene was terrifying. The TV was paused on a shot of Leo's desperate face as he attempted to get into first class to see Kate, for one thing. For the other, John was on the far side of the room cowering behind a pot plant, while Anna and Daisy attempted to restrain a raging Edith as she shouted to David from the window to the street.

"HERE'S YOUR STUPID CDS, AND YOUR PANTS, AND YOUR HAIR GEL AND YOUR-" As several items fell to his feet.

"EDITH, LISTEN TO ME!" David shouted desperately. "IT WAS A MISTAKE, I STILL LOVE YOU!"

"OH PISS OFF!"

Sybil turned around to John and tore the Aspidistra fronds apart, exposing his face.

"What in the name of all sanity is going on?" John shifted uncomfortably.

"David dumped Edith," he began, "but then he knew she'd be here because she's here every month, and well, he figured out he'd made a mistake, so that happened," he gestured to the widow, "and at the same time Mary was annoyed at Matthew for leaving a wet towel on the bed or tripping over some shoes or something, so that happened," here he gestured to the kitchen, "and William was uncomfortable with the bad dynamic, so he started stress eating-"

"You gave him _sugar_?" Sybil cried. "Why? Why would you do that?" She snatched the empty packet of smarties off the floor and waved them around.

"Because of those bloody cats!"

Sybil was about to berate him for allowing William to attack the bin dwelling creatures with a water pistol when he caught sight of Tom.

"Oh, hello there!" He smiled, and extended a hand. "I'm John, you must be Tom. We've heard a lot about you!"

Tom smiled and shook John's hand through the leaves as though it was the most regular thing in the world. "All good I hope! It's wonderful to finally meet you!" Sybil rolled her eyes and stomped away, muttering under her breath, and set about fixing the house. The first thing she did was slam the window shut in Edith's face, slick a rude hand gesture at David, then push Edith down onto the couch, and directed Anna and Daisy to follow suit, then pressed the play button and made a run for a saner room. She made her way down to kitchen, hurled the door open and bellowed,

"NOBODY CARES!" Before grasping her sister's wrist in a cast iron grip and dragging her into the sitting room, slamming her onto the couch, and loading them down with discarded bowls of 'comfort food' and leaving once again. She opened the widow in the corridor and spotted William instantly- though it was rather difficult to miss the grown man wearing the superman t-shirt, balancing precariously on Mrs Williamson's balcony rail, roaring that he was the master of all and squirting any disobedient pigeons that crossed his path.

"WILLIAM JOSEPH MASON, GET DOWN FROM THERE THIS INSTANT, OR I SHALL HAVE NO OTHER OPTION THAN TO SLAM ON DAME JUDY DENCH!" William obediently hopped down and scurried to Anna and John's door like a kicked puppy, Sybil slammed the window and stomped into the kitchen, where the rest of the males seemed to have gravitated. Matthew's beer disappeared without even touching the sides of the glass. He groped blindly for another one, and Sybil pulled it away from his reach. "You're not drinking from a bong, so slow down you pompous arse." She snapped, before popping the lid off the bottle with the heel of her boot and taking a large swig for herself.

"Rage, woman." John commented absently, as he opened a packet of crisps.

* * *

><p>She'd intended to leave when she heard the wailing from the four women in the living room, equivalent to the point where Rose promises to never forget Jack, but she got rather distracted.<p>

Tom had a wonderful arse. She could stare at it, even when he was sitting down, it was just so… stare-able. Sometimes he got up and retrieved another beer from the fridge, at which point he'd bend over, and she'd stare at it even more. Telling herself it was creepy, and slowly forcing herself to look away, William pointed out something on his phone, Tom stood up a little bit to see and- oh, there it was again.

So naturally, when she heard the first few strains of Celiene Dion, the interrogators had begun to roam free, and Sybil was much to busy staring at Tom's behind as he attempted to fix the Bates' toaster- standing up and leaning over the table slightly to get a better look. All of a sudden, a Daisy appeared beside her. Sybil glanced up, and jumped about a foot in the air, off the island. Her mascara had run, and was dribbling all down her cheeks, smudging her foundation as it did so. Sybil mutely offered some paper towel, which Daisy waved away, proceeding to sniffle, and inspect Tom's arse silently. Sybil smacked her on the arm.

"Ow!" Daisy yelped, gaining the attention of the other occupants of the room. "What was that for?" Sybil looked at her pointedly. "I was only lo-" Sybil forced a glass of water to Daisy's lips, making her drink rather than allowing her to keep talking,

Anna then stumbled into the room, with no makeup and red puffy eyes.

"What the hell happened to the toaster?" She asked.

"William sat on it." John supplied.

"Why was he sitting on the bench?" She asked, paying no heed to Sybil's place.

"He wasn't."

"How did-" Anna shook her head and pinched the bridge on her nose. "I don't want to know." She walked past Sybil and Daisy and extended her hand to Tom.

"Nice to meet you, Mister Girlie Giggle- Sybil! Let poor Daisy breathe!" Sybil removed the glass, and Daisy spat the water out into the sink, and began coughing.

"Daisy! What are you doing choking, you were on ice cream detail!"

"She got distracted- there was an arse." John supplied. Sybil threw the roll of paper towel at him.

"John!"

"Why was ice cream called for?" Matthew asked, with a small frown of concern. Anna shrugged.

"Break ups and Titanic don't work together."

At this point, Mary stumbled into the room, and flung herself onto Matthew, in a wave of tears.

"I love you! She sobbed, somehow getting snot onto his t-shirt. "I promise I'll never leave you! I won't forget about you-" she was cut off by more sobs- a stunned looking rest of the room and terrified looking Matthew all sitting/standing/leaning/headstanding (need I even say it?) in a terrified silence. Then being broken by Edith.

"I'LL JUST GET MY OWN BLOODY COMFORT FOOD, THEN SHALL I?" She screamed form the doorway- her face in a similar state to Daisy's.

* * *

><p>"So that was your secondary family, then?" Tom asked as they strolled down Sybil's street (the one not inhabited by any shouty grandmothers).<p>

"That was my secondary crazy, yes." Tom chuckled slightly, and gazed ahead of him as he walked.

"I liked them." Sybil glanced at him, unsure of how to respond. They'd begun stringing up Christmas decorations a few days ago now, and the lights on the bare trees illuminated the concrete and his handsome profile. No boyfriend had ever said that before- all who'd openly stated the fact that they found them weird or annoying ended up in a vicious shouting match, or the ones who didn't say anything at all got dumped on the spot.

"Syb?" Is everything okay?" She hadn't even realised that she'd stopped walking until she heard his voice, and looked up to see his face staring down at her in concern. His pink lips, and long eye lashes… the word pounce suited her reaction well, as she kissed him forcefully.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Please review Xxx<br>**__**(P.S. My other Friends in the Big Blue Box never gets reviews, and this one has approximately eight more than that one, off the top of my head, and it's only 16 chapters long, so you lovelies are currently my** **favourites!)**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**GGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHH!**_

_**IJUSTWATCHEDSEASON3UPTOEPISO DE7ANDIAMSEVERELYDISTRESSEDR IGHTNOWANDNEEDTOBREATHE!**_

_**Phew. Okay. Well, I am rather emotionally drained, so I decided to write some more of this. I shall continue with this story, and am PUMPED to be publishing this. Not only to save mybrainTomandSybil, but because I wrote this a little while ago, and ILOVEDIT! and decided it was too early in the story for it, but now... YAYAYAYAYAY! **_

_**Oh, I'm watching Glee and Blaine's sad...**_

* * *

><p>The one thing that possibly annoyed Sybil the most about her life were her friends. Not to be misunderstood- she loved each and every one of them, and their varying degrees of madness, but some of them had a tendency to catch her off her guard- and enjoyed a good surprise.<p>

* * *

><p>"SURPRISE!" William shouted as he jumped out in front of her and smothering her in a large hug. Ignoring the stares from the people around her, she gently pushed him off her, and started at the manic grin adorning his features.<p>

"Hi Will!" She greeted him, somewhat awkwardly as he continued to grin. "is there something up?"

"I need your help." He responded, still smiling.

"Right," she replied, inspecting the tiling beneath her feet, "could it not have waited?"

"Until when?"

"When I wasn't in the Ladies room." He looked at her and shrugged, and then continued to grin as she rolled her eyes, and shut off the faucet before drying her hands on a piece of paper towel. "Seeing as you're here, you can carry these." She instructed him, piling her books and laptop into his arms, and leading him out of the bathroom and into the university campus fresh sharp air.

"I won't drop this one." He told her, and she eyed him warily, as the Apple logo flashed in distress in his arms.

"So, as much as I appreciate the visit, what's so urgent that it couldn't wait until I got home?" She asked casually as they walked, until she realized that it wasn't 'as they walked', it was now 'as she walked and he stood still grinning like an idiot'. She returned to where he was standing and looked at him- he was trembling slightly. "What's wrong? Are you cold- No, you're not cold, you're excited! That's the face you have when a new Meryl Streep movie comes out-"

"I'm going to ask Daisy to marry me."

There was a moment of silence while she digested this information.

* * *

><p>"I said I'm sorry!"<p>

"It's fine Sybil, honestly."

"I really didn't mean it!"

"Sybil, calm down! It's interesting experiencing casualty from the injured person's perspective."

"I'm really, really sorry."

"It doesn't matter I'm not cross! Just don't ever do that, ever, ever, again."

"But-"

"It's no big deal! The nurse even gave me a lollipop!"

"They're keeping you in overnight!"

"_With a lollipop!_"

"William!"

"Sybil!" He retorted, mimicking her tone. He was sitting up in his bed while she sat on the foot of it, watching him. He really did look like a small child, with the bandaged wrapped around his head, his usual cheeky demeanour, and lollipop sticking out of his mouth.

"You look too young to marry anybody." She told him, poking his knee.

"And you look to innocent to hospitalize anybody, but how do you like that?"

She glared at him half heartedly for a moment, and then her face broke out into a grin. She wriggled up closer to him.

"Have you picked out a ring for her yet?" William shook his head.

"That's what I was coming to talk to you about. I don't know what she likes! She's hated anything I've ever bought her! I don't know why she didn't like them anyway, I thought they were pretty cool!"

Sybil stared at him for a moment, then placed a hand on each of his shoulders, and looked at him sceptically.

"William. You bought her a Lego set. You bought her night vision goggles. A swing set. A toy light sabre. A Rose Tyler action figure. A toothbrush, a pair of shoes from the bargain bin- both for a left foot, one being size ten, the other size six. Not to mention a pack of envelopes, a hard hat with drink holders on it, jumper cables and a pad of sticky notes."

"What woman doesn't like those?"

"No woman likes those! Not for an anniversary, and especially not for Valentines day- Happy Valentines darling, let's go defeat the empire!"

"Which is why, I need your help. You and Edith are her closest friends, and girls _talk_ about that sort of thing, and I don't know if you'd consider-"

"Wait." Sybil interrupted, holding up a finger. She thought for a moment. "Consider it done." William grinned, and hugged her. She pulled away, and was about to start talking, when the curtain was yanked open.

"William!" Matthew cried, taking in the sight before him. "What _happened_?"

"She did it." He said, pointing to Sybil.

"You gave him concussion?" Edith asked, popping up next to Matthew.

"Why would you do that?" Anna asked.

"Yes Sybil, why?" John followed. "And by the way, you have fifteen seconds before Mary comes in." Ignoring the others, she kissed William on the forehead, allowed Daisy to shriek hysterically at the sight of her boyfriend in bandages, grabbed her bag and bolted for the door.

* * *

><p>Naturally, being Sybil, she tripped over, hid behind a guy in a wheel chair, walked into a wall, and got her scarf stuck in the lift door and almost choked before she made it out of the hospital.<p>

She may or may not have been avoiding Mary.

Ever since 'the date' a month ago, she'd been quite hesitant to talk to Mary. At all. Sybil shook her head sadly and sat down on a bench seat, pulling her phone out and turning it on.

Life would be so much easier if her sister didn't seem to be under the mistaken impression that she was a super spy or something. Then maybe she wouldn't have to meet up with Tom in secret and sneak around like she was on a smuggling operation. Apparently her parents had tried to reach her three times, and she guiltily pressed redial, and almost immediately wished that she hadn't.

"Sybil, where have you been?" Screeched her mother. "Your father and I have been trying to reach you all day!"

"I'm sorry Mama, my phone's been off. I was at the hospital."

"Good lord, what on earth for?" Her father asked, and Sybil realized she was in a conference call.

"I gave William concussion."

"..."

"Mama? Papa?"

"What _for_?"

"Why do people keep asking me that?! I didn't do it _for_ anything! He told me he's going to propose to Daisy, and I hugged him, with quite a bit of force, and he lost his balance, fell backwards and hit his head on the concrete-"

"He's going to propose to Daisy?!" Shrieked Cora.

"Mama! Not so loud-"

"This is wonderful news! Oh my, once he has, she must call me immediately, I'll help her plan we can get her into the best-"

Sybil tuned out.

Her parents were rather fond of the pair of lovebirds, despite their social status, the aristocrats approved of Daisy and William, after their slightly awkward meeting three years ago, when William knock a bust of one of the ancestor's over at Downton, which shattered upon impact. And then there was the incident with the pineapple and the spear in the pipes, but Sybil preferred not to go into that.

"Sybil? Sybil?"

"Sorry Mama." Sybil muttered.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

"Not that I'm aware of, why?"

"There's a charity ball hosted by Sir An-"

"I think I have some taxes-"

"It's December, dear."

"Some studying-"

"It's break."

"Some tanning?"

"_Christmas_ Break."

"Some-"

"Sybil," interjected her father in a tired voice. "Just come to the bloody ball. Anthony's an old neighbour, we need one of you girls here, and ever since Edith ran away from him-"

"He grabbed her leg!"

"Sybi-"

"In front of the Prime Minister!"

"That was-"

"And Hugh Grant!"

"S-"

"What if he's a total creeper! What if he's Mister Collins! Jane's not available, let's creeper at Lizzie!"

"SYBIL!" He bellowed. "It's one night, which you can spend on the other side of the room, hiding in a cupboard watching The Lord of the Rings on a portable DVD player if you must, but either be there, or we'll investigate your love life."

"I'll be there." She blurted out hurriedly.

"Good. Bring a date."

"A what?!"

"Or shall we set-"

"I'll bring one!" She shrieked.

"A car will pick you up tomorrow at nine."

Silence.

Sybil hung up and groaned. The way her parents could manipulate her was truly terrifying.

Wait. Did she just agree to bring a date?

Shit.

* * *

><p><em>Ding dong<em>.

The door of Tom's flat opened, to reveal Sarah wearing a t-shirt.

And some mascara.

"BROTHER!" She bellowed. "Crazy lady's here." And with that she stomped into her bedroom and slammed the door. Sybil stepped over the threshold and closed the door softly behind her.

"Tom?" She called.

"In the living room!" She dumped her bag and coat and wandered into the living room. He was sitting up on the couch, with a blanket tangled around his legs, blinking his eyes rapidly as he woke up, and the Von Trappes running around on the TV.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake-"

"Don't worry about it!" He said, with a grin, before grabbing her wrist and pulling her down on top of him for their meeting ritual.

It had been a really great four weeks. After a few moments, they broke apart, Tom muted the television (thank God- the kids were breaking into song again) and grinned at her.

"What's up?"

"Several galaxies surrounding our planet. How are you?"

"Breezy."

"Hilarious."

"I am, aren't I?" He replied with a play-smug grin. She giggled and poked his stomach.

"Listen," she began, swallowing. "I've done something stupid."

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"William told me..." He said, picking up his phone. And glancing at the screen. Ever since the double date a few weeks ago, the two men had become quite close, but that wasn't something that needed explaining now, the chapter was just getting started and the author's computer was running out of battery-

* * *

><p><em>TWO WEEKS AGO…<em>

Oh, well that's decided then.

She smiled shyly at him across the table.

"Sybil," he asked, his warm tones tickling her heartstrings.

"Mmm?"

"Why are you so nervous? Still, I mean." She sighed.

"Same reason as last time." She blushed and ducked her head. He reached across the table and gripped her hand.

"You look so very beautiful tonight, Sybil." The redness of her cheeks intensified tenfold.

"Well thank-"

"Sybil," he interrupted. She frowned slightly, wary of his warning tone. "You have something in your hair." He leaned over the table and set about untangling it for her. The waiter gave her an odd look as she sat there with Tom's hands in her hair, and she shrunk in her chair from embarrassment. A kid with large glasses and evening wear being accompanied to the toilets by his smartly dressed father began to speak in a very loud voice,

"That's what I was telling Mum about before. Because we're so closely related to the apes we develop some of their characteristics such as picking nits from our sexual partner's hair like that-"

"Lucas!"

Tom looked around, not removing his hands from Sybil's hair.

"You'd better hope your high school girlfriend is really cool, kid."

Sybil blushed bright red and slumped her face into her hands to hide her giggles, while the child was shooed into the restrooms.

"You can look now, Syb." She removed her hands to see Tom's palm occupied by a small baked pretzel, three cashew nuts, a cocktail umbrella and two lego blocks. She glanced briefly at the objects, before standing up abruptly, marching over to the bar and pulling the slingshot out of a disappointed looking William's hands.

"How did you know that was him? Or that he was… even here" Tom called from their table.

"William! What have I told you about doing this?! Never again!"

"Again?" Tom and Daisy asked in unison, as the latter appeared with a matching slingshot.

"Daisy? You too? Stop flicking things into my hair!" William smiled before diving past her.

"Hello Tom Branson born Ireland, moved to London to pursue political career, graduated from Oxford after obtaining scholarship and currently working as a mechanic, I don't believe we've met!"

_NOW…_

* * *

><p>"Oh, that," Sybil waved her hand dismissively. "Something else." Tom nodded. "No, now I only promised my parents that I would attend a ball for our old neighbour of theirs in Yorkshire tonight." Tom supressed a laugh, though not very well. The corners of his mouth lifted dramatically, and his stubbly skin stretched over his bulging facial muscles. Sybil laughed at his desire to do so, and reached her face up to press her lips lingeringly against his jaw.<p>

"With a date." His face fell.

"Why?"

"Because otherwise they'd have set me up with one of the bachelors Mary has left in a trail behind her! Which for them is more or less an invitation to fling themselves at me, junk first!"

"Sybil-"

"Do you know how disgusting it is to have an elderly man approach you dick first? It's not fun. And really terrifying when you think you're getting a charming old gentleman a cup of tea?"

"Babe-"

"And what's more, would you really want an old guy running at your girlfriend dick first? Would you, Tom, would you really? My parents bullied me into this ball, but whatever, it's not like I mind being used for javelin practice- well it's either that or the fat bloke with the tic tac-"

"SYBIL!" Tom bellowed, gripping her shoulders. "Shut up! I would have gone with you if you just asked me, but now I really think that I have to go to save you from a fate worse than penis."

Tackling him back into the couch may have been a bit of an overreaction, and smashing his face with hers as well, but sod it.

"Whipped as, brother." Sarah remarked drily from the servery window from the kitchen.

"Sarah, put some pants on." Tom commanded, not even looking up from Sybil's face.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Please be breezy and review, darlings! XXX<strong>_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Warning: More fluff than my cat, a bunny, a cushion insert and wand of fairy floss combined.**_

* * *

><p>Sybil wrestled the dress bags out of the taxi, none of which deciding to release themselves until she gave one almighty heave and they sent her sprawling across the pavement in a vigorous tangle of limbs. Cursing, Sybil struggled to her feet and made her way to her building door. Slowly and painstakingly, she let herself in, and made her way up to her apartment, manoeuvring several dress bags as she did so. Finally she burst through her apartment door, and threw herself down on her bed in sheer exhaustion.<p>

The doorbell chimed.

"Come in." She grunted into her duvet. Tom let himself in, meekly carrying his friend's cousin's girlfriend's brother's dress shoes (i.e. The creepy ginger guy). She rolled over and tossed him a dress bag.

"It took a lot of pure sneakiness to get that tux- so don't wimp out on me." He grinned and bent down to kiss her on the mouth. After a long moment, they broke apart. Only then did they realize the situation they were in- he lying on top of she, on her bed. Gruffly, he was the first to move himself, picking up the discarded suit bag and unzipping it. She remained where she was, watching him for a moment- those broad arms, muscular chest, handsome profile, wonderful arse- oh that arse. He glanced over and grinned when he saw her staring.

"Miss Crawley!" Her eyes snapped up to his face and she smiled weakly.

"What?"

"Were you just admiring my backside?" She giggled and rolled off her bed.

"Maybe, maybe, maybe." She picked up the remaining six dress bags and hung them up on a small ledge on a bare brick wall. She slowly began unzipping them and lining up the dresses she might wear that evening, leaving a trail of glitter and silk behind her.

"Blimey." Tom muttered, walking around the corner and backing up slightly. "Where'd all this come from?"

"Mama. She thinks I attend more events than I actually do." She opened a large box and began lining up her shoes underneath.

"And what're all they for?" He asked, his voice rising to a rather un-masculine pitch.

"To wear on my feet."

"B-but… they look like murder weapons!" He cried, his voice rising even more, as he stooped to pick one up, and held it in front of his face. "How do you balance?"

Sybil looked at him sceptically.

"Darling, I have been learning to walk in these since I was eight, I think I handle it."

"But don't they hurt?"

"I'm used to it."

She went to her dresser and retrieved her jewellery box, and began picking out pieces to match each outfit and placing them in the corresponding shoes.

"Bloody hell, woman- you're amazing!" She grinned and placed the box down, before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I am, rather, aren't I?" She smiled into the kiss, and could feel that he was too.

* * *

><p>"Tom?" She called, tossing down her phone and groaning. "Daisy's not much help, and I need you to help me decide." Tom leaped up from the couch- where he'd been for the last half an hour watching Sybil's recordings of Glee on her DVDRecorder. In a bored reverie. He'd showered and slicked back his hair with an old bottle or gel ("It smells like bleach, and looks like snail crap!"), drank half a carton of orange juice ("When do you ever buy food? You're going to poison yourself!") and rearranged her essay file ("There's a note from Mary in here reminding you to buy tampons and that if you snog me, you'll be disinherited."), so a chance to move on and do something was more than exciting for him.<p>

"Well this one," she said, gesturing towards a brown and gold sequined number, "is gorgeous, but rather revealing, though I can get away with it because I'm there with somebody, so I won't be targeted. However, this one-"

He tuned out.

After a few painfully slow minutes, he smiled graciously and slipped a hand over her mouth.

"I think, that you should wear a tracksuit." She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. "Because you'll outshine any woman in any room, in any world. In my eyes, you're spectacular." He could see in her eyes that she was dying to respond, and he shook his head. "No, no, don't protest. You're perfect." He could feel her growing weak in his arms, and he grinned.

"You can lick my hand all you want, I'm not moving it, Sybil Crawley." She giggled and he contradicted himself, moving his hand to kiss her softly on the mouth. She was the most fantastic woman he'd ever met, and he was determined to not make an ass of himself in front of her parents.

"I like that one." He whispered, pointing to the last one in the line, before sauntering back to the couch.

* * *

><p>Sybil nervously stepped out of the bathroom. Tom was standing looking out of the window, standing in his tux. She couldn't help but wolf whistle, causing him to turn around.<p>

"You cut a fine figure in a tux, Mr Branson." He grinned at her mutely, for a long moment. She smiled awkwardly and nodded.

"Uh- Tom? Are you going to say anything?" He simply continued grinning like crazy, and she fingered the fabric of her dress nervously. Suddenly, he snapped out of it.

"You look spectacular, darling." He whispered, whipping his iPod out and quickly snapping a picture. She laughed, and moved forward to kiss him. It was true, though, she did look stunning. She was clad in a tight, low cut dress that sparkled golden entirely, and brushed the tips of her golden satin sling backs. She wore no jewellery, save for a pair of golden Cleopatra style earrings that touched her neck, slightly hidden by her curtain of loosely floating hair. She wore golden eye shadow with brown eyeliner and faintly colour-stung lips. They broke apart gently, and her phone vibrated with a message- the car was down stairs.

"Thank you for doing this." She whispered. He smiled and played with her hair, sending several shivered of delight down her spine.

"Any day, any time, any need, any wish- I shall be there." He promised quietly. A small melting sensation began in her stomach, and worked its way up to her cheeks, and down to her toes.

"You utterly delightful man."  
>He grinned that stupid, irresistible grin once more, and she could not help but kiss him again.<p>

It would be simply rude not to kiss somebody that attractive.

* * *

><p>She sighed heavily, and the two of them made their way downstairs. Once safely located in the aforementioned car, she turned to Tom.<p>

"So, simple tips." He nodded eagerly- she could sense his nervousness. "No political talk with Dad. He's very prone to shouting about it, please steer clear of that for another day." Tom looked slightly stricken, but nodded once more. "No molestation of pineapples." At his puzzled look, she held up her hand. "That's a story for another time, mostly involving William and a bottle of Cristal, which brings me to tip number three. Please avoid inebriation." He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her hand again. "Nope, you're not allowed to talk. My first time in there, I'd just turned eighteen, and was under the table in the first half an hour. It gets pretty intense." She silently counted off on her fingers. "Oh, and lastly, I'll direct you away from exes, but if you get cornered, mind your drink. Larry's been known to be a bit of a prick." She exhaled loudly and nodded.

"Can I talk now?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Why did you say yes to your parents?" He moaned. "I feel like I'm being sent to the front line!"

"Oh, sweetie!" she cried (her immediate response to all emotional turmoil), flinging her arms around him. "You really are." He groaned and slumped back in the seat, hands over his face.

"We'll be out by midnight, tops." She promised, shifting a few fingers so she could see one of his blue eyes, one of which swivelled around to look at her. "And then we can drink ourselves silly."

"I like the way you think."

* * *

><p>"What do I do now?" Tom hissed desperately in her ear.<p>

"We just got in the door. Calm the hell down! The oldies can sense fear from a mile off." She replied, smiling politely to a group of gossiping old women by a golden column, whom were staring at them very intently, and reminded her startlingly of a pack of vultures. She dragged Tom purposefully around the edges of the room, avoiding most _"Oh, hello, how are you? I haven't seen you in yonks, don't you look young, what's your secret?"_ 's with success. Finally, she sought out her parents, who embraced her with vigour.

"Sybil, darling, how are you! You look lovely." He father complimented fondly, holding her at arms length.

"Sybil." Was all her mother said, drawing out the name, as she drew her into a hug, her silver hair piece stabbing Sybil in the cheek.

"Parents, how goes the earl-ing?" She asked, stepping back and linking arms with Tom, who her parents immediately eyed up and down. After an awkward moment, in which nobody spoke, and she feared that Tom might pass out from the radiation of the x-ray beams her parents were scrutinising him with, she spoke.

"Mama, Papa, this is Tom, Tom, this is my father, Lord Grantham."

Tom smiled charmingly and offered his hand, which her father gripped briefly.

"It's nice to meet you, Lord Grantham, I've heard a lot about you." Tom offered, to which her father responded with a pained smile.

"All good, I hope." He sounded strained, and Sybil had to hold her right arm down with her left to prevent herself from face palming. Tom chuckled appropriately and nodded.

"Naturally."

"And this is my mother, Lady Grantham." Cora, however, had no apparent qualms with Tom (whom she didn't mind not recognising from the friends of a friend on 'Book Face, is it?', clearly unlike her father), and embraced him in a mother like fashion.

"Tom, it's lovely to meet you! Pleasure!" Tom's face visibly softened with relief, and he grinned again.

"You too, your Ladyship." This was immediately waved away.

"Oh, do call me Cora, your ladyship makes me seem so old." At this point, Tom re-joined Sybil, who was about to provide a reasonable and not at all far fetched explanation as to why they both had to disappear to the other side of the room, when a torrent of profanities assaulted her ears.

"Bloody hell!" A very familiar- usually stotic- voice swore, breaking away from its usual elegance. "Sybil, what the (blank) is wrong with you? You (blank) ing bring Tom? You've been dating for a (blank)ing month! Are you completely (blank)ing mad? He looks like a beetle in a clump of (blank)ing toadstools!" Sybil turned to face her sister, Lady Mary Crawley, the lightweight, and an embarrassed looking Matthew behind her, puffing. Mary was really fast, even when drunk.

"Delightful." Sybil muttered.

"Hello again, Mary." Tom offered, smiling politely, despite his being likened to a bug. Mary looked at him, as though somehow only just realising he was there.

"Oh, Tom. Hi!" She greeted, swaying slightly.

"Sybil, Tom." Matthew acknowledged quickly, as he darted forwards to catch his tumbling wife. This, proving to be a suitable distraction, allowed Tom and Sybil to slip away into the crowd.

"I thought you said your sisters wouldn't be here." Tom stated, accepting a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

"Mama's done it again." Sybil responded darkly, taking a larger than normally recommended gulp of the alcohol. "When she wants all of us here, she lies."

"What? Really? That's a bit cruel."

"I expect Edith's here somewhere."

"Probably hiding behind a pot plant, knowing her."

"Most definitely."

* * *

><p>"Sybil." Tom whispered urgently.<p>

"What?" she replied, worried by his stress.

"Those women are staring at me!"

Sybil looked around until she spotted the source of the problem. The same group of vultures from the doorway had somehow materialised by the fountain across the room, and were indeed eyeing Tom with a manner similar to that of Kriliates from Doctor Who.

"Laugh boisterously." She hissed in response.

"What?"

"Laugh boisterously like I just said something amusing and you're an obnoxious toff." Tom looked at her as though she was mad, but after a moment obliged, and laughed loudly and irritatingly, while Sybil forced out a few shrill giggles- both clutching their drinks, they seemed to blend in to the surrounding habitat perfectly.

"Alright?" He asked, anxiously, but still falsely guwaffing. She nodded, and they both turned to inspect the fountain to gage the reaction of the vultures, only to see their nest deserted- as though they were never there. Both of them whipped around madly, but saw them nowhere.

"Spooky."

"Sybil!" Boomed a deep voice from behind her, and she froze, like a deer in the headlights. Run? Where? Over there? Hide where? Dive into the fountain! Yeah, obvious answer- NO. NO FOUNTAINS. THAT HAS THE POSSIBILITY OF ENDING REALLY, REALLY BADLY.

"Hullo, how are you?" Sir Anthony's hearty voice asked from beside her.

"Anthony! How lovely, I'm very well, thank you. This is Tom." She grabbed his arm and pulled him violently to her, and he grinned awkwardly.

"Spiffing!" Anthony cried as he shook Tom's hand vigorously. "Sybil, have you seen Edith?" He asked rather suddenly.

"Er-no."

"Damn, I was rather hoping to catch her… maybe she'll be by the bathrooms…" he muttered, wandering away, tossing a farewell over his shoulder.

"Yikes." Tom muttered, massaging his hand from the crushing grip it had been exposed to a moment ago.

"He's a lovely person, really." Sybil defended nonplussed. "Just a little bit awkward. It's a sad story- his wife passed away a few years ago, and he's been shagging bimbos ever since who're after his money, and he can't tell them apart, so he keeps falling into the same trap over and over."

Tom exclaimed quietly.

"And then he met Edith, and they fell in love, all gushy and a tad creepy, but nice all the same, and then Mary scared him away, and they were left by themselves again."

"Bloody hell!"

"Can you two please stop gossiping about me?" Edith's voice snapped from behind a potted fern. Sybil started and began to topple over (bloody shoes), being saved by Tom's strong arms and masculine aftershave.

"Thanks." She breathed, as he helped her to right herself, incidentally placing them millimetres apart. Tom muttered something that might have been either 'your're welcome' or 'guh huh huh'. Never before had she felt so strongly inclined to kiss him, with his strong jaw and lovely eyes-

"Ew, PDA's up in here." Edith interrupted, clambering out of the fern with a strange amount of dignity for somebody who was… well, clambering out of the fern. Tom moved slightly to face Edith, breaking the spell, but Sybil (never being one to be satisfied with mere simplicity of her actions), leaped back about a metre, an slammed painfully into one of the many golden columns littered throughout the room.

"Syb, are you alright?" Tom darted forwards to help her back to her feet- he seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight- while both she and Edith seemed unbothered.

"She's fine- she's been doing this all her life." Edith supplied.

"Used to it." Sybil, confirmed nodding, snatching a martini from a passing waiter's tray, and taking a large gulp. When the rim of the glass un-shielded her vision, she saw both Tom and Edith giving her a wary eyebrow.

"It's medicinal."

Edith rolled her eyes, and flitted her a slight grin.

"So Anthony's looking for me again?" Edith asked, under a cloud of faux causality. She was lighting a cigarette in a long holder, something she only ever did when she was really, really nervous.

"Oh, Edith! Not again!" Sybil cried, the pieces falling together in her brain. Edith puffed out a storm of smoke in indignation, causing Sybil and Tom to burst into a fit of hacking coughs.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Edith cried, attempting to waft it away with her hand. Sybil shot her a murderous glare, and in response, she plucked the cigarette from its' holder and passed it to a nearby teenage girl who'd been eyeing it enviously.

"Edith!" Sybil cried, but Edith waved it away.

"She's happy enough, look!" True to Edith's words, the teenager was currently puffing away happily, surrounded suddenly by a swarm of teenaged boys, as though the presence of tobacco and purple highlights made them all magnetise.

"And thus the mating ritual begins, in which the males battle for the approval and attention of the resident female." Tom muttered quietly to Sybil and Edith, causing the two to snort with laughter.

"So, Anthony?" Edith repeated pointedly.

"You were there, you heard!" Sybil exclaimed.

"But I couldn't see- there were leaves everywhere!"

"That tends to happen when you sit in a plant."

"Shut up!"

"Play nicely in the sandpit, children."

"Shut up, Tom!"

"Blimey, don't bite my head off…"

"He seemed eager to find you, and extremely disappointed that he hadn't already." Sybil continued crossly, folding her arms. "And at this point, I find it to be my sisterly duty to-"

"To what, Sybil?" Edith snapped. "To warn me off him? To tell me that he's to old for me? Well, I've heard it all before, and I don't care. It doesn't matter- none of it does. He's sweet and awkward, and I love him- still. I miss him." She pleaded with large eyes. Taken aback by this sudden heart felt monologue, she blinked a few times.

"But Edith-"

"Sybil- it's alright for you." Edith interrupted softly, her eyes sparkling with tears. "You're the prettiest of all of us- Mary's pretty in a different sort of way. I don't get stares like you do, it took you half an hour of pub dwelling to find somebody." She said, gesturing to Tom. "Nobody's taken notice of me since David and I broke up. Nobody's called me hot since David and I got together-"

"Not true." Tom intervened quietly, gaining Edith and Sybil's immediate attention.

"What?!" They both snapped at the same time. "Who?!"

"Alfred- my mate Alfred!"

"The creeper?"

"No, that's Jeff. This is the one that Mary said looked like a kicked puppy."

"Aw!" Edith crooned.

"So you don't need to-" Tom continued, but was swiftly interrupted.

"But I do." And with that, Edith flipped her hair, and sauntered off in the direction that Anthony had departed in.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Poor Edith :(<br>This story has been nominated for the Highclere award! I'm not exactly sure what it is, or who nominated me, but I've heard of a few times, so I thank who ever nominated me profusely. **_

_**Thanks for favourites, alerts and reviews, they make my day. **_

_**This evening shall be continued in chapter... the next chapter.  
>Please review Xx<strong>_


	7. Chapter 7

_**I own nothing.**_

* * *

><p>"…And they're the males, gathering around the watering hole…" A group of elderly men gathered around the punch bowl. "And the younger males, attempting to raise their libidos by flaunting the size of their women…" A group of younger men (many of whom made Sybil want to cough 'Pricks!' into her hand, but she held her tongue, while Tom continued) all with expensive looking tuxes with ironic nerdy themed trimmings, and women with basketballs shoved down their dresses hanging off their arms. "The younger members of the herd fraternize away from the sight of the parents…" Tom pointed down from the mezzanine at a group of teenagers, shielded from the view of their elders by an intricately carved wooden screen, drinking from a flask, and smoking… something that did not look like tobacco. "Yeesh, that looks like strong stuff… and around the edges of the inhabited environment, the stragglers of the herd, many of whom appear to have given up trying to find their places among the pack…" several people looking extremely uncomfortable, sitting on chairs against the wall, "…and the beginnings of their mating ritual going on behind that curtain over there- ew!"<p>

"Where are the vultures?" Sybil enquired, scanning the room again. Tom started.

"Oh dear lord…" he trailed off quietly, and then turned around and yelped slightly. There, in the corner of the platform behind them, sat eight formidable looking women, staring intently at them.

"Holy crap, that's terrifying." Sybil whispered.

"Let's not make it so obvious we're staring." Tom whispered, turning back to the railings. When Sybil did not follow suit, he gripped her elbow and spun her around.

"Why not? It's not like they're bothering to be hide it." She protested, but didn't look back. And after a quiet moment, "Did the one at the back have red eyes?"

"I think so."

After a few moments of shaky silence, in which Sybil forgot herself and began scrutinizing Edith and Anthony flirting down below, she saw Tom beside her jolt.

"What?" She asked, almost sloshing her drink onto a woman's beehive hairdo beneath her.

"They've disappeared again." He whispered, she turned, and sure enough, they had vanished, seemingly into thin air.

"Eep!" She whispered, looking around them. "Do you think they're anywhere nearby?"

"They'd have to be, wouldn't they?" Turning around and inspecting the marble floor below them, she hit Tom on the arm to gain his attention, and pointed. Beside the stoning teenagers, sat the evil old ladies, staring at them again.

"How do they move so fast?" Tom whispered, terror lacing his voice.

"I'm not sure-" Her theory, however, was cut off by the voice of an Oxbridge toff.

"Sybil!" flinching at the familiar vowels, Sybil captured Tom's hand in an iron like grip, causing him to buckle slightly in pain. Turning around, she smiled in a wobbily fashion into the face of Larry Grey.

He looked like a weedy hamster.

His suit was flawless- not a blemish on it, as was his skin. Not a wrinkle, nor freckle in sight. His hair however, was so greasy; it looked like some sort of waterpark attraction. She could see in her mind's eye, a small thing- tiny person, or white mouse, for instance, clambering over her ex's nose, up his forehead, and onto his hairline, before slipping over the top of his head and down the back of it- sliding easily down the back of Larry's shirt and being stuck inside his shirt, slipping and sliding around madly due to the lubrication of its' self with the vast amount of hair product it picked up from- what the hell was wrong with her?

"Larry." She responded, ensuring that her voice was bored, and her smile obviously forced.

"Pleasure to see you again!"

"Yes." She gripped Tom's hand even harder, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see him wince. "Larry, this is Tom. Tom, this is Larry. My ex." She stressed the last two words particularly, hoping that they would discourage Larry and that he would go away.

But then, if a miracle happened every day, they wouldn't be so special.

"Oh, hello." Larry greeted, his voice dripping with distaste.

"Hello." Tom replied.

"How are you here?" Larry asked, sipping his colourful cocktail in boredom.

"I'm sorry?"

"How are you here?" Larry repeated slowly.

"As Sybil's date."

"Oh!" He cried out in faux comprehension. "How do you know her then?"

"…She's my girlfriend."

"But how do you know her?'

"…I'm sorry, I really don't have a clue what you're talking about." Tom huffed slightly. Larry grinned.

"Picked a bright one, Syb." Larry muttered with a wink.

"And then I broke up with him and now he's here talking to Tom and I, and lowering the I.Q of the entire room." She replied drily.

Larry grinned, but said nothing in response, instead turning to Tom.

"How, do you know her?" He replied, drawing out each word to a length reminiscent of a whale.

"He means how did we meet, and by that he means which family do you come from, and by that he means which old toff is your Daddy." Tom looked at Larry with a raised eyebrow.

"My parents," he began, with a dangerous sort of voice, which made Sybil worry as to what would happen next (but was utterly sexy on him), "are Brenda and Philimon Branson, of Ireland. I have five siblings, and much to my relief, my parents both support and live a completely working class lifestyle." Larry now looked rather phased, some of his cockiness melting away as Tom loomed over him.

"So you're Irish?" Larry enquired.

"Yes." Tom replied curtly.

"Oh. Did they lose your luggage on the way over?" He enquired.

"No."

"Because you're not wearing cufflinks, but a buttoned shirt, and your suit is a cut from '93."

A tense silence crept over them, Sybil fuming madly, and Tom looking- well, bored.

"They didn't lose my luggage, nor my manners." And with that he strode away, Sybil following him closely, still not letting go of his hand. Once a suitable distance away, they rounded the corner of the mezzanine that ran the entire way around the room, they slipped behind one of the pillars, and leaned against it.

"That prick!" Sybil snarled, clenching her fists. "That bloody slimy jealous prick!"

Tom grunted in agreement.

"What a tosser!"

"Mmm."

"He's such a slime ball!"

"Mmhm."

"Why can't he let anything go?"

"Why did you go out with him?" Tom asked abruptly. Sybil broke off her vindictive staring match with the wall, and turned (with difficulty, given the tight space that they were enclosed in) to face him.

"Because Mama and Papa are friends with his parents, and they sat us next to each other at dinner for six years until we went out."

"Why, though?"

"Because he hadn't stopped bugging me since he was seven." She muttered darkly. She watched, in the gloom, as Tom did the maths in his head, and the reaction he made when he realised-

"They were finding you a husband when you were thirteen?" This statement hung in the little alcove, answered by her silence.

"Oh my god." He whispered, when she still said nothing, and pulled her into a tight hug.

"And you know what's worse?" Sybil added, her voice muffled by Tom's immense shoulder.

"What?"

"They though Larry Grey would be a good idea."

Tom chuckled slightly, and they broke apart. He stared at her for a good moment, until he finally kissed her gently on the lips. When they broke apart, he opened his mouth, as if to say something, but changed his mind and closed it again.

"We'd better get out of here, or the vultures will start finding things to gossip about." Sybil murmured, as she kissed Tom on the tip of his nose, and pushed him gently on the chest so he'd back out from behind the pillar, and she could too.

* * *

><p>Nervously, arms linked, they made their way around the room, their treads silenced by the rich carpet. Upstairs was where three things happened: people hooked up, people spied on those downstairs, or people sought protection from the crowds from the one woman in all of London's society who could give it- and she didn't hand it to anybody she did not like.<p>

Which was why they came upstairs in the first place. To seek protection from the rest of the herd, given by none other, than Sybil's granny.

Silently, the couple stopped walking, and she nudged Tom gently, and pointed ahead of them. There was a cleared area, wider than the rest of the mezzanine, where several couches and coffee tables were set up, for the less adventurous of the partygoers. However, who's ever idea this had been had one simple flaw in it: namely, the Dowager Countess of Grantham. The elderly woman was sitting alone, in a midst of scarlet velvet sofas, with her back to them. Tom looked questioningly at Sybil, who raised a finger to her lips, and pointed. An elderly couple with kindly faces were hobbling up the stairs- unaware of the trap they were walking into. They made to sit on one of the sofas, a few metres from where Granny was situated. Just as the wife's bottom touched the seat, there was a remarkable bark.

"What are you doing?"

The couple started and looked around at the Dowager.

"I don't know you- are you being traumatised by somebody that I don't like?" The husband mouthed like a goldfish for a moment, before responding.

"No, we're not being traumatised by anybody."

"Then go sit somewhere else."

Neither of the couple moved.

"I mean it!" Sybil pictured the fearsome look o her grandmother's face, and watched in amusement, as the elderly couple stood up, and walked away, past Tom and Sybil briskly, wide eyed. Tom looked at Sybil with a similar expression to those who had just passed them, but before Sybil could respond, her grandmother spoke.

"Hello there, Sybil dear! And your beau! How nice, do sit down." Sybil smirked at Tom's bewildered expression, as she led him to the sofa opposite her grandmother, and perched on it- glad to take the weight off her feet in these shoes, but at the expense of her hips and thighs- suffering the wrath of the rough, tight golden fabric of her dress. Her grandmother smirked knowingly at her pain, and Sybil sent her a mocking glare.

Violet Crawley really was an impressive figure.

Despite going on eighty, she looked fabulous in whatever she deemed worthy of wearing, tonight being no exception. She looked stunning in emerald green silk, her hair was flawless, not a stray strand to be seen. She was sitting up as straight as a board on the cushy sofa, clutching her walking stick rigidly, and positively dripping in pearls and diamonds, she exuded power. After a moment, she turned her gaze to Tom, and Sybil's good mood plummeted. If Granny did not like Tom, this would be made apparent immediately, and neither of them would escape the wrath.

"So, young man." She began, her voice echoing around the empty corridor, despite the music from the floor below. "I suppose you're wondering how I knew you and my granddaughter where behind me?" A nervous nod or mask of unflappable calm?

Nervous nod.

"I have my ways."

"Granny went to the same finishing school as the vultures." Sybil intervened. Tom nodded, his mouth forming an 'o' of comprehension.

"Who?" Granny enquired simply.

"The band of old ladies that keep staring at us."

"Oh." Granny muttered, her expression morphing into one of immense dislike. "Are they bothering you?"

"Yes, rather." Granny simply nodded, and snapped her fingers. A waiter appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"Get Sybil and her young man a drink, and send Esmeralda to me." The man nodded, and scooted off silently, before turning her attention back to Tom.

"Old family?"

Tom gritted his teeth slightly.

"No."

"Rich family?"

"No."

Granny considered this for a moment.

"Educated?"

"Oxford."

"Scholarship?" Tom paused, and then smirked slightly.

"Why don't you tell me?" Sybil shifted slightly. This was certainly different. Granny pursed her lips slightly.

"Yes, scholarship." Tom nodded, and Granny smiled.

"Current occupation?"

"Mechanic."

"On way to becoming?" Tom raised an eyebrow, with a smile similar to the one occupying Granny's features.

"Political journalist."

"Side?"

"Guess."

"Labour."

"Correct."

Granny remained silent for a time, obviously thinking intently. Sybil hardly dared to breathe, for fear of upsetting Granny's train of thought. Finally, she spoke, in a dangerously quiet tone of voice.

"Whovian?"

"Born and raised."

Granny nodded elegantly, and a wide smile appeared on her face. She turned to Sybil, and simply said,

"Yes."

Sybil sighed in relief, and took Tom's hand. Granny approved.

"Now," she started, turning back to Tom. "Your name?"

"Tom Branson, milady."

"I am, as you appear to be aware, the Dowager Countess of Grantham."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, I've heard a lot about you."

"All good, I see."

And it wasn't a question.

"You guess correctly."

"It wasn't a guess, Mr Branson. It was knowledge."  
>"You had not heard of me from Sybil before we spoke."<p>

"You also guess correctly."

"And that also, was not a guess."

"Who told you?"

"Your questions did."

"Who told me?"

"Your son and his wife."

"Correct." Granny was nodding in approval. "And you know this how?"

"By one assumption, and common knowledge."

"Try me."

"You have not spoken to Larry Grey aside from a possible 'Good evening'."

"Correct."

"You spoke to Sir Anthony when you arrived, which was before we did, and long before he and I were introduced."

"Also correct."

"Had you spoken about me to either of the three people who could have told you- ruling out Sybil, because I know she hadn't, "

"Correct again."

"You would have heard it from either Mary, Edith or Matthew, all of whom I have met, and would have given you the information you were searching for, ruling them out."

"Yes."

"Leaving only two people, who you would not have sent away from your sanctuary, Sybil's parents."

Granny was practically glowing with admiration.

"Young man, we are going to get on very well." Sybil grinned, and turned to look at Tom who nodded.

"I know."

* * *

><p>Before long, the young waiter arrived with a tray of two martinis, and an old fashioned champagne glass (something which Sybil favoured over the flute), and passed them out accordingly. Once Granny had sipped her champagne, she gestured to the young man, who disappeared once more, and returned with the previously desired Esmeralda. Sybil started, as she recognised the vulture that was wearing the grey dress.<p>

"Esmeralda." Granny greeted cordially.

"Violet." Esmeralda returned, moving to sit down.

"I did not say to sit." Esmeralda raised an eyebrow.

"You haven't changed much, have you Violet."

"Ought there to have been a reason for me to?"

Esmeralda scowled.

"I have called you here to instruct you to leave my grand daughter and dear Tom here alone." Granny informed her bluntly, to which Esmeralda raised an eyebrow.

"And why should I?" Granny bristled.

"Because it is what I have told you. Do you wish to go against my word?" Esmeralda did not speak for a moment, as though weighing the scales, and then scowled once more, turned, and stalked away.

"Problem solved." Granny stated, and Sybil shuddered. Oh, how it would be to be on the wrong side of Granny.

* * *

><p>"…oh, but ballrooms will always have their fair share of scandal."<p>

"There hasn't been any recently!" Sybil objected, and granny shook her head.

"What about William and the pineapple?" Sybil grimaced, and nodded.

"Wait- that's the second time I've heard about this tonight! What happened with the pineapple?" Sybil shuddered and shook her head, and Granny looked scandalized.

"We only speak of its' name!" She hissed. "We cannot repeat what happened!" Tom looked miffed, but nodded acceptingly.

"Tom! We can leave!" Sybil cried, gleefully, checking the time on her phone. This seemed to interest Granny to.

"Time?"

"Three past eleven." Granny nodded.

"Thank goodness for that." She muttered, standing up straight, and placing her glass on the table before her.

"It was a pleasant conversation. Best wishes, take care, and don't get any tattoos." And in a swirl of green silk, and flash of many diamonds, the Dowager Countess of Grantham was gone. Sybil and Tom stood too, Sybil sighing in relief as her dress relinquished its vice-like grip on her thighs.

"Your grandmother-" Tom began before being interrupted by Sybil.

"Is freaking awesome." Tom grinned, and the two of them met in a kiss, with force behind it. Somehow, Sybil felt it meant something more than their previous kisses- there was something to it. Their bond was a strong one, she trusted him incredibly. They'd been dating for little over a month, and she felt so secure around him, so safe in his arms. When she was by his side, she felt as though she could accomplish anything. She felt- he'd broken the kiss and turned away, beckoning for her to follow him, and she could see it again.

Oh, that arse. He glanced around, and broke out into a broad grin.

"Sybil!" He cried, turning back to her, and gripping her around the waist. "You were ogling my butt!"

"Was not!" He hugged her tightly, and lifted her into the air.

"That's the second time this evening!" He cried gleefully.

"Oh, shut up, you!"

"You love my butt, you love my butt, you love my butt-"

He sang, and she could not help but laugh.

"Look, do you want to leave, or not?" This seemed to snap him out of it, and he stood to attention. "That's what I thought." He laughed, and she beckoned him over to the staircase, and what she saw before her terrified her. In order to reach the door, she would have to pass: Her father, a flirting Edith and Anthony, Larry, the vultures (staring at poor Edith, now), Mary and an embarrassed Matthew (who was desperately trying to quench the sound of his wife singing sea shanties), and her mother.

"Heck." Tom muttered beside her, and she nodded in agreement.

"Heck indeed." She was desperately attempting to plot her way around this, until finally, one came to mind. She paled visibly, and Tom seemed to notice.

"What, Sybil. What's wrong?" He asked, worried.

"T-Tom," she started- this was going to be difficult.

"What? Sybil, you're worrying me, what's wrong, love?"

"There's no easy way to say this, but…you have to go on without me." All colour drained from his face, and he gripped her upper arm.

"No. No I won't." He responded stubbornly.

"But you must! Oh, Tom, don't you see? It's the only way!" He shook his head violently.

"No. I won't. We're a team! A united front! I can't leave you!"

"But Tom, if you walk through there now, nobody will stop you! You'll blend into the background perfectly! Please you must!"

"But you'll be-"

"Oh, I'll be fine, don't worry."

"But-"

"No. This is something we have to do." He looked at her dumbly for a moment, after which, she kissed him lingeringly.

"I'll see you on the other side." She whispered.

"Sybil…" he replied, his face ashen.

"Go."

"I'll wait for you." And with that, he was gone. True, to her predictions, Tom's path to the door was not hindered. Sybil exhaled loudly, and wriggled her fingers. Time to get to business. Slipping into the background, she edged down the staircase, and slipped around the side of the bannister. Hiding in the shadows, she successfully passed Lord Grantham. Diving behind a pillar, she lingered a few moments, before ducking low and running past Edith and Anthony, skidding to a halt on the slippery floor, behind a fern. She could see her next destination- the shadows of the fountain. But if she stood, even ducked, Larry would see her. Quickly and efficiently, she tucked her chin into her chest, and rolled backwards across the path of danger, and into the crowd. If the other partygoers found this odd, they did not say. Ducking again, she ran to the fountain, and dived out of the crowd, arms outstretched. She landed on her stomach, and slid a few metres, before coming to a well-timed stop in the safety of her hiding place. After a moment, to collect her nerves, she peeked out to see. Larry hadn't noticed! Now, her problem was the vultures, and their damned eagle eyes. Once more, she rolled backwards into the crowd, and disappeared from their view. Edging her way towards the fern Edith had been hiding behind before; She glanced about her, before leaping at it, and landing safely in its shadow. Peering from behind the fronds, the vultures still seemed preoccupied with Edith and Anthony, none of them facing her way. Carefully, she rocked back onto her feet, and gripped the pot tightly- was she seriously about to do this? Yes, yes she was. Shuffling awkwardly in he hunched position; she moved the pot a few inches to the left, and followed behind it. She paused for a moment. Nobody appeared to have noticed. She could feel her heart beating in her ears, as she shifted the pot another few inches. This continued fro quite some time, until she reached more people, jumped out from her portable hiding spot, and squeezed between conversations. Mary was keeping Matthew plenty occupied, all she had to do was slip by silently, and she was past. Now her only problem was Cora. Talking animatedly to another woman, in the entrance foyer/corridor, lined with more of the golden columns, which were littered throughout the building, Sybil spotted her only hope. Slipping behind a column, she breathed deeply, gathered her nerves, and bolted for the next one. Hardly daring to move, she hesitantly peeked out and observed… still engrossed in conversation. Steeling herself once more, she leaped into the gap, and ran for the next one. Quietly she congratulated herself, but realised now, where she was. She right in her mother's line of sight. If she was seen now, this ridiculous charade was all for nothing.

'_One… two… three!_' she cried in her head, before diving onto the ground, and sliding some more on her stomach. Halfway though, she lost momentum, and panicked. '_Crap, crap, crap, crap!_' She violently kicked with both of her feet, and placed both of her palms on the floor, which stuck slightly, and she pulled herself along, managing to push herself to the next vantage point. She drew herself up behind the next pillar, and collected herself, cracking her knuckles. The hard part was done. Now for no man's land. Quietly, she slipped off her shoes, and hooked them over two fingers, stuffing her clutch into the same hand. She readied herself, closed her eyes, breathed deeply and- she broke for the door, her hair flying out behind her, earrings jangling and clinking, feet pounding desperately, dress hitched up so she wouldn't trip- the fresh air hit her like a wall of happiness, and she spotted Tom waiting by their car. Laughing in relief, she ran over to him, arms outstretched- wait, what? Her arms were out stretched? What was stopping her tripping over the hem of her dress? Answer: Nothing.

To say that she literally fell into Tom's arms wouldn't be an exaggeration at all. Laughing, he opened the car door, and flung her roughly inside, quickly following after her, and slamming the door shut behind him.

"Go, go, go!" She shouted at the driver, who took off quickly. Breathing heavily, she looked around at Tom, who looked back. Suddenly, and without intention, they both burst into peals of laughter, falling all over the back seat.

"You're crazy, Sybil." He chuckled, as she flopped her head back onto the seat, and he brushed her fringe away from her face.

"You know you love it." She grinned. He smiled at her warmly.

"Oh yes, I most certainly do." He leant down and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was warm, tender and well… sensuous?

"Mr Branson, this is your stop." The driver informed them.

"Is Sarah home?" Sybil enquired. Tom simply nodded. Not looking away from his blue, blue eyes, she called to the driver:

"Take us back to my place."

* * *

><p><em><strong>I apologize for the awfulness, I was up until one finishing this, which is possibly the most wild point my life reaches. <strong>_

_**That's quite sad, isn't it? **_

_**Well, thank you for your lovely reviews! And the favourites and follows, they really make my day all the more special. **_

_**Finally, I have not seen episode eight. Any spoilers shall result in a severe temper tantrum.**_

_**Please review Xx**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**I own nothing. **_

* * *

><p>Sybil was woken by the smell of coffee. It took a moment for these things to register with her sleep-addled brain:<p>

One: I'm awake. Sod off.

Two: Wait, I'm awake and can smell coffee. I didn't make coffee, I was asleep. I didn't even make coffee when I woke up, because all I've done was lie here and realize that I was awake and could smell coffee!

From her very comfortable spot in bed with her face buried in a pillow, she wasn't so curious that actually _moving_ to investigate this coffee monster was necessary. She'd just use her early morning Sherlock skills.

Well, first she'd already established that she made no coffee, ruling her out.

She was the only person who lived in her flat.

Unless, of course the 1977 Dalek that lived in the corner of the room made it.

CAFF-IN-ATE! CAFF-IN-ATE! CAFF-IN-ATE!

No, not the Dalek, maybe somebody broke in and made it?

A coffee swilling house breaker. How preposterous.

So that must be it then.

Sitting up groggily, the first thing she noticed was her underwear hanging from the light fitting.

"So not a house breaker, then." She muttered.

"Morning!" Tom greeted from the kitchen, and she started.

A shirtless Tom in her kitchen.

This was starting out to be a really, really good day.

Wait- there was a shirtless Tom in her kitchen? Oh, that's right. Great early morning Sherlock Skills, Sybil. She grinned slightly as she remembered the previous evening, and flopped back onto the pillows. A shudder of delight passed through her as she remembered the feeling of being pressed gently up to the wall, kisses being pressed against her collar bone, mutterings of joy, and stifled cries into the bed clothes.

"So, not a morning person, huh?" He murmured, rounding the kitchen bench, and leaning over her to kiss her, to which she responded enthusiastically. Pulling him down on top of her. When they broke for air, he grinned down at her.

"Or maybe you are then." He rolled off her, and she shifted herself to face him, staring into his captivating blue eyes.

"Last night," she began, as he reached over and began playing with her hair. She was about to continue when she noticed something. "How come you've got your underwear? Mine are somewhere up there!" She objected, plucking the waistband of his shorts. He laughed, and she couldn't help but giggle as well.

"Mine ended up on the dalek."

"Lucky dalek."

"And I was going to get yours down from the light fitting, but you have no brooms, and I didn't want to drag the chair over and wake you up."

"Of course I have no brooms! That's emotional self abuse!" Tom stared at her for a long moment.

"I'm sorry, but I'm really not following."

"Didn't you ever watch Fantasia as a kid? You know Mickey mouse and the dancing brooms?" She shuddered. "That scared the crap out of me." Tom shook his head.

"I was thirteen when that came out. I watched it with my niece- the bit with the baby whale was so sad! I nearly cried."

"You nearly cried?" She asked, slightly taken aback. Tom paused, obviously having realised what he'd just said. "That's sooooooooo sweet!" She crooned loudly before he could react, and dove on him, pinching his cheeks.

"Sybil! Ouch! Stop that!"

* * *

><p>"I made you some coffee." He told her, passing her a mug. She eyed him suspiciously, and sniffed it.<p>

"It seems okay."

"Of course it is! I haven't tried to poison you!" Sybil eyed him warily, before cautiously dipping the tip of her finger in.

"Ow! Hot!"

"What did you expect?"

"I don't feel any lingering burning sensation."

"You won't! It's coffee!"

Tentatively, she raised the cup to her lips, and sipped a little bit. The familiar bitter taste invaded her mouth, and she swallowed nervously.

"That's lovely." She said, suspiciously, glaring at Tom, who raised an eyebrow.

"It's coffee, Syb."

"But it's lovely."

"And?"

"What did you do it?"

"Nothing!"

"I don't believe you!" She cried, sitting up straighter in her bed, pulling the sheet up with her.

"Why not?"

"No coffee that good can possibly come out of that plunger! It always, always turns out with properties similar to formaldehyde!"

"Syb-"

"It's cursed! It hates me! I swear it's trying to kill me!"

"Shut up and eat." He told her playfully, passing her a plate of toast over the kitchen bench. The triangles sat there innocently on the plate, almost mockingly.

"What now- is your toaster trying to attack you?"

"It's all in one piece!"

"Yeah?"

"And it's… toast colour!"

"You're meant to turn the dial down from seven."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." He said with his cheeky grin as he shuffled up the bed next to her, turning his phone on. After a moment, the sound of the Nokia text message tone could be heard over of innocent pieces of toast being eaten.

"Anything interesting?" She asked, through her food.

"The usual- Jeff, Jeff- ew! That's disgusting!"  
>"What?"<p>

"Not while you're eating."

"I don't- know- see- a- doctor- you- creep." He muttered as he texted back.

"Lovely."

"I said not while you're eating- Alfred, work- how am I supposed to know find it yourself- Jeff, Sarah- great! She and Jeff broke the awful lamp- actually, maybe she'd better go with him when he sees the Doctor- William- what the hell does that mean?" He asked, passing her the phone, which read (on the quaint tiny little green Nokia screen): _Tell Sybil that I got it and it looks like a billion setting suns in a- crap, just dropped the billion setting suns in a gutter! Old homeless man! COME BACK, YOU FIEND! GAH! HEEEELP! ME DIEZ!_

"He bought an engagement ring and a hobo stole it."

"Oh damn, I hate it when that happens." Tom muttered jokingly. Sybil passed the last corner of her toast to Tom, and checked her own messages.

_Anna: Can Tom come and fix the toaster again? We had Daisy and William around for tea Xx_

_Edith: I did not know you could still do sommersaults like that. X_

_John: Don't worry about it- we'll buy a new one. Anna is getting emotional about the toaster for some reason. _

_Mary: Tpu!s wany to xomw yp lubxh qeth is tommmoeiw) Rveryinw s gouinf rib bw rhete Ccc_

"How Tom, Mary's invited us to lunch, everyone's going to be there apparently."

"Sounds fun."

* * *

><p>Tom and Sybil entered the café with linked fingers, and slid into the booth beside a happily humming Edith, and opposite a grumpy, bloodshot Mary. On the other side of Edith sat a slightly sniffling Anna, and a nervous looking John, and beside Mary (sandwiching her beside the wall) was a tired looking Matthew.<p>

"Hi there." Tom greeted quietly, receiving a few smiles and nods in return.

"Good day, all!" Sybil cried enthusiastically. "Isn't it a wonderful day!" Leaning across the tom and the table, the grinned at Mary. "Aye aye, me hearty!"

"Oh, do shut up." Mary snapped.

"She was singing until three in the morning." Matthew muttered. "And then she wasn't content to just sleep, no, no, she had to kick me until-"

"Oh, get over it, you big baby."

"I have bruises, Mary, _bruises_!"

"Speaking of bruises…" Tom interrupted in an offhand sort of voice- everybody followed his line of sight.

Daisy and William had just entered, and were making their way over to the booth. Not only was William's head still wrapped in a bandage from when Sybil had hospitalized him, but now he had a massive shiner as well.

"William!" Edith cried in horror, "What did Sybil do now?"

"Edith!" Sybil reprimanded. "Why would you-"

"It was a fire hydrant." William muttered bashfully, inspecting his shoes.

"He did it yesterday afternoon." Daisy snapped grumpily, "and won't tell me why he tripped, or how he did it."

"Us either." John supplied.

Daisy gripped Matthew's ear, and pulled him sideways, so there was a space next to Mary. Easily, due to her tiny frame, she slipped around Matthew, and plonked herself down gracelessly next to Mary.

"I will not sit next to you." She snapped at William.

"Injuries make her mad." He explained to the rest of the table, giving Matthew a shove, causing him to yelp in surprise, and sitting beside him.

"Oh, to be trapped between a feuding couple." Tom teased. Mary grunted and Edith sighed happily.

"Oh, what is it now?" Mary barked at Edith, whose smile only grew wider.

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that! Something's making you act like a little pixie elf, and it's irritating, so tell me!"

Hung over Mary was a mean Mary.

"Anthony and I talked all night last night." Edith confided with a blush darker than tomato sauce.

"After he cornered you outside the bathrooms, and followed you around for half an hour? How could you not?"

Hung over Mary was also a blunt Mary.

This biting remark did not seem to affect Edith in the least, who began humming Ave Maria under her breath. Mary groaned loudly, and slumped her head onto the table top.

* * *

><p>Some time after they had ordered their meals, William gestured for Sybil to follow him. He led her to the small tiled hallway outside of the bathrooms, and turned to her nervously.<p>

"So you got the ring?" She asked excitedly. He nodded, and pulled the small box from his jacket pocket. It was nice- a small brown diamond settled between two rubies on an intricately woven golden band.

"Aw, it's nicer in real life than over Skype!" She gushed. He nodded eagerly.

"The guy was really nice about me buying a second one."

"Did the old guy trip you up?" She enquired, gesturing to the bruise.

"No, a kid did." Sybil started at him in disbelief.

"A _kid_?"

"When they hit seven, they all turn evil." He responded with a shudder. Sybil nodded encouragingly.

"You'll beat them someday, Will."

"I tried to ask her eight times, last night."

"…Eight?"

"I said eight!"

"I know, I was repeating you."

"Why?"

"In an expression of disbelief and scepticism.

"Oh." And after a moment, "That's a bit mean."

"What ever! What happened?"

"Well, the first time, I planned a nice, cute little surprise, so I sat in the kitchen for half an hour, waiting for her to come in, but I had some chocolates, the cat got hold of them- it was not pretty. She was in the shower the whole time, so thankfully she didn't see that."

"Thankfully indeed."

"And then I put Mama Mia on-"

"WHY?"

"Because it's romantic!"

"Oh, lord."

"But she fell asleep."

"Understandable."

"It's a great-"

"And what happened after that?"

"I dragged her out for a walk in the park, I went to kneel to ask her and-" he stopped and shuddered.

"What, what happened?" She asked worriedly.

"A squirrel jumped out of the bush and-"

"And what?"

"Attacked my… acorns."

She stared at him dumbly for a moment.

"_What?_"

He nodded miserably.

"… I don't really know how to respond to that."

"And then we went to Selfridges, and I wanted to ask her by the spice rack-"

"Excuse me?"

"The spice rack! Because she spices up my life!'

"…"

"It's deep!"

"That is so, so weird, William."

"Thank you!"

She eyed him strangely.

"And then I told her I was taking her to dinner, and she said okay, and then she went and organized it-"

"Wise move, considering what's happened in the past."

"That was an _accident_."

"Go on."

"With John and Anna at their house."

"Oh dear."

"And then I tried when they both left the room, and I ended up breaking the toaster."

"As you do."

"And then I tried when we were walking home, but I got hit by a toddler on a tricycle."

"What?!"

"Not important."

"And then I tried when we were in bed, but she told me that she wasn't in the mood."

"…"

"I just said Hey, Daisy, I was thinking-"

"That'll do it." Sybil agreed, nodding.

"So what do I do now?" He asked, a flash of desperation overcoming his features. Sybil was slightly taken aback by this sudden request of advice, and fumbled madly for something to say.

"Just- just go with whatever feels natural. Just follow your heart. What does it tell you?"

William simply nodded.

"Right." And with that, he marched back to the table, and fell to his knees.

"That's not what I meant." She muttered, running after him.

"…and there was that time that you helped me out of the rubbish bin when I was stuck in that glob of gum- but anyway," William was addressing Daisy over an extremely awkward looking Matthew. Mary shot her an incredulous look, meaning '_Did you tell him to do this?_ _**Now?**_'

She shrugged and shook her head,

'_It wasn't me!_'

And with that, she directed her attention back to William and Daisy… and Matthew, apparently.

"And that time you pilfered that easter egg for me from that bratty kid. Oh, and you're really cool. And those are all the fifteen reasons why I love you. Where was I going with this? Oh that's right. Daisy, will you marry me?" The entire café was staring now, William looked nervous, Daisy was speechless, and Matthew looked like he would very much like to be someplace else right now. Daisy slowly placed both hands on her cheeks.

"Oh William," she whispered, "Oh, yes, of course I will!" The other twenty four patrons, and eight staff (who had all gathered around, apparently having shirked their kitchen duties, which were currently being taken care of by a clueless teenager who was running around madly and in great distress) applauded, and William and Daisy leant over Matthew and kissed.

* * *

><p>"To Daisy and William!" John announced, back at his and Anna's flat.<p>

"Daisy and William!" Everybody cried, clinking their glasses together.

"Oh, Sybil," Daisy sighed dreamily, once everybody had dispersed into conversations of their own, "I'm so happy!"

"Good for you!" Sybil encouraged, grinning.

"And thank you for helping Will pick out the ring! I can't believe you knew and didn't tell me!"

"I know! It wasn't easy!"

"But I'm so glad you didn't- it was so romantic!"

"I'm sure Matthew agrees with you."

"Oh, shush, you."

They both laughed, and Sybil watched as William tried to uncork a bottle of champagne. Remembering something her mother had said, she turned to Daisy.

"By the way, I mentioned it to my mother a few days ago- she seemed very eager to help plan, she kept going on about getting you into boutiques-"

A scream, an incredibly high pitched scream tore its way out of Daisy's mouth. Sybil jumped back, and smacked her head into a cupboard.

"Are you serious?" Daisy squealed. Sybil nodded nervously.

"Please don't hurt me." She whispered, as Daisy pulled her into a dangerously ferocious hug.

"THAT'S AMAZING SYBIL! I LOVE YOUR MOTHER! OH MY GOD!" This continued for quite some time, during which Matthew almost called an ambulance for fear that Daisy was suffering from some kind of break down, William and toaster had another incident, causing Anna to start crying again (what was with that, anyway?), Sybil's arms lost feeling in her arms from the ferocity of which she was being hugged, a few neighbours dropped by to make sure that nobody was being attacked, and the old Estonian gentleman who lived across the courtyard and apparently did not believe in the principles of trousers flicked them a rude hand gesture.

* * *

><p>Tom and Sybil walked slowly through London's busy streets, hand in hand through the winter chill, and Christmas anticipation.<p>

"Do you have any idea what was wrong with Anna?" Sybil asked, as she almost fell onto a toddler who was having a full blown lying-on-ground-kicking-and-screaming-beating-fists-on-floor tantrum. Tom caught her just in time, and hauled her to her feet.

"Lord only knows what would happen to me if you weren't there." She remarked, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked.

"Embarrassing things."

"Oh, I'm used to those."

"I figured as much." They walked in silence for a bit more, Sybil thoroughly enjoying the feeling of their linked hands.

"But what about Anna?"

"Oh yeah… I have a theory."

"Mmm?" He chuckled a bit and looked down at the ground for a moment. "What?"

"Do you remember, how when we were there William jumped out of the window, and you went into psycho bitch mode?"

"Er, yes."

"Remember how you tripped over a stack of pregnancy books?"

"Yes." Tom looked at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. After a moment, something in her brain went 'thunk' as it fell into place. "No." She gasped incredulously.

"I think so."

"Anna's pregnant?"

"Maybe." Sybil squealed and tossed her arms around Tom's neck, hitting a passing woman in the face.

"Sorry!" She called after the retreating form, before turning back to Tom.

"Daisy and William are getting married, and John and Anna are going to have a baby! All in the one day?" She laughed, and kissed him.

And this is where Chapter eight ends, thinks the author as she types, a smile playing onto her lips. With Tom and Sybil kissing in the middle of a crowded footpath, with the beginnings of snow swirling around them. Isn't it irritating, when couples do that? Well neither of them care, because they're currently so very, very happy.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thank you for all the support! It's very much <strong>_**_appreciated!  
>I'm sorry I didn't include the intercourse, but I'm not comfortable writing it.<br>Just watched episode eight today. POOR EDITH!  
>But Tom in old fashioned cricket get up? Yum yum.<br>Please tell me what you think (about the chapter, not Tom's physique. Or Tom's physique if you really wish.), and I'll update soon! Xx_**


	9. Chapter 9

_**I own nothing!**_

_**FYI: Tom's sister- NOT O'BRIAN. JUST SAME NAME. Just putting that out there.**_

_**ALSO: I HAVE NO EXPERIENCE WITH DRUNK PEOPLE. DO NOT TAKE MY WORD FOR HANGOVER CURES OR ANYTHING IN THE MEANTIME!**_

* * *

><p>"And the star goes on the very, very top!" Sarah shrieked in glee, completing a pirouette around the room, clutching the ornament between thumb and forefinger, and neatly navigating her way around a cardboard storage box.<p>

"How are you so happy?" Sybil enquired, scrabbling around in the bottom of the container where the glitter was stored, hissing in annoyance as the small specks took up residence under her nails- sky blue, this week. "Only normally you're a bit more cynical. Or travelling around without underwear."

"It's Christmas!" Sarah cried, leaping up onto the sofa, and beginning a little dance. Sybil was in their flat, helping decorate for the holiday season- seeing as how Christmas was in a three days, and had been left a bit late. Tom began to laugh happily, before crossing to sofa, and holding out his arms.

"Do you want to put on the top? Properly?" Sarah squealed in delight, and displayed no hesitation in leaping off the cushions, and landing roughly in Tom's strong grip. "Oof!" He muttered, picking his way across the crowded room. "You've gotten heavier since you were little, sister." This remark did not seem to hinder her joy, crying out happily as Tom held her nearer to the tree, and she reached out and placed the glittery star on the top. Sybil laughed and tossed a handful more glitter onto the green needles.

"Now, small one." Tom began, taking a turn about the room with Sarah, rocking her slightly as though she were a child.

"Tommy! Put me down, you ass!"

"Now, now! Patience. As you know, Christmas is a time for family and giving." Sybil grinned, and began sprinkling glitter on the wide, wooden windowsills of Tom's old flat.

"And what are you intending I give?"

"Your presence to our family?"

"Ha! Try again."

"Your presence to Jeff? You know, the bloke you've been seeing for three years?"

"You're not authorized to comment-"

"And whose parents you still have failed to acquaint yourself with."

"Just because you're a complete suck up-"

"Or you may donate-"

"Sybil!" Sarah implored, drawing out the name, reaching her arms out, "Sybil, help me!"

"Tom! Stop!" Sybil objected, tossing more glitter, this time at Tom and Sarah, both of whom spluttered and shook the sparkles from their hair.

"This is educational!" Tom protested.

"If you stop now, you get the prize later."

"You'll tell me about the pineapple?" Sybil flashed Sarah a pointed look, who played along brilliantly.  
>"Oh god, the pineapple!" She cried, bursting into a fit of giggles, and burying her face in Tom's chest. Tom's face fell.<p>

"You told my sister, but not me?"

Sybil smirked, and turned her back, sashaying back to the tree.

"And the prize was rather more specific than that." She called over her shoulder. She flicked a glance over her shoulder, and saw Tom's blue eyes sparkling with joy. Sarah's false mirth had ceased, and she was shooting her disgusted gaze between Tom and Sybil.

"Oh, ew, no." She shouted, scrambling madly, and tumbling out of her brother's arms, causing him to cry out in shock, but she leaped up to her feet, unharmed. "No! No sibling sex!" She cast one last look around the room, with a manner reminiscent of a wild animal, before sprinting down the small hallway screaming,

"NNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO !"

There was a door slam, and an awkward silence.

Tom kicked the last box into the corner, as Sybil placed the lid back on the glitter tub, and placed it quietly down on the television unit. The awkward silence continued, during which both of them glanced around the room at their glittery, festive handiwork.

"So. Prize?" Sybil offered suddenly, flashing him a coquettish smile,

"God, yes." He muttered, striding across the room, and enfolding her in his arms. After some time, this progressed to the sofa, until the sound of the doorbell chimed throughout the flat. Both of them froze, neither wanting to move more than the other.

"Let Sarah get it." Sybil muttered into Tom's neck. He made and mmphing noise of agreement, and continued his ministrations. The bell chimed again. And again. And again. And again. And ag-

"SARAH ELOUISE BRANSON, GET THE FREAKING DOOR!" Tom bellowed, causing Sybil to jump slightly. Sarah's own door crashed open, and they heard her stomp grumpily down the short hallway, evidently back to her usual self. The front door was thrown open, apparently sending the caller sprawling onto the steps, judging by the noises.

Tom cursed, and Sybil clambered off him, locating her blouse and pulling it over her head roughly, before following Tom down the corridor to inspect the damage. There, on the steps, lay Matthew, humming happily to himself, and clutching a glass bottle to his chest as if it were his teddy bear.

"Matthew?" Sybil asked, before she could stop herself.

"Oh, hello there, Sybil." He slurred drunkenly.

"What are you doing?"

"Going sleepy byes!"

"Matthew!"

"What?"

"Why are you drinking in the morning?"

"Am I?"

Suddenly, Sybil felt a warm hand on her elbow, and Tom's form came to stand in front of her.

"Maybe I should deal with this. Man to man sort of thing."

"…"

"Go and get him some water, and I'll talk to him." Sybil glared at him for a moment, before turning to go inside and fetched the water. When she came outside, Tom had Matthew sitting on the topmost step, the bottle on the other side of Tom, who was speaking in a low, soothing voice. What ever Tom had said appeared to have some sort of affect on Matthew, who slurred:

"I can's get my wife preg- hic!- nt." before his body crumpled into a torrent of drunken sobs. Sybil looked on with wide eyes, as Tom patted him comfortingly on the back, keeping a fair distance between them. Sybil moved forwards and placed the glass on the concrete, and hissed in the Irishman's ear:

"Why are you being so cold with him? Shouldn't you comfort him more?" Tom shook his head, and pointed at Matthew, who was convulsing as though he was about to spurt out a large hairball. The truth was not to far off, save for the hair. Tom roughly patted his back again, forcing Matthew's head forwards, saving his clothes, but not that of anybody who may have been hugging him.

"Oh."

* * *

><p>"That is incredibly disgusting." Mary informed her sister, from her position beside Sybil on a silvery upholstered bench seat.<p>

"I noticed." Sybil replied drily, fiddling nervously with the hem of her blouse.

"So where is he now?"

"On Tom's sofa."

"He drank that much?" Mary cried in horror.

"Nah. Tom crushed a couple of pills and slipped them in some water."

"Is that safe?!"

"Perfectly."

Mary paused, as if wondering to ask something.

"Yes, he told us." Sybil murmured. Mary's pale complexion faded to something closer to the rack of dresses beside her.

"Oh, Sybil darling, please don't-"

"Number three!" Edith cried enthusiastically, leading Daisy out of the changing area in the third dress that had been picked out for her by Sybil's mother.

Mary's words were swept up in the appropriate chorus of 'awww's, and croons of approval displayed for each of the other dresses. This one seemed to be comprised of entirely tulle, pearls and diamantes.

"It seems a bit flashy." Daisy murmured doubtfully, fingering the bejewelled bodice.

"Well, you're getting a flashy wedding." Anna replied, clipping the veil to Daisy's curtain of dark hair, and steering her towards the mirror. Sybil stood back, beneath the over large chandelier in centre of the circular room. The crowd of women around Daisy made it impossible to see Mary, though when they sat back down after Daisy had departed to try on another candidate, her sister delicately avoided Sybil's eye.

* * *

><p>Half way through the fitting, Edith had leave due to a prior commitment. Daisy and Sybil spied her through the fluffy sheer curtains, skip across the pavement, and into Anthony Strallan's vintage silver sports car, without so much as paying a second glance to the door, and flinging herself over it gracefully.<p>

"It's like something from Grease," Daisy observed, as Edith leaned across the gearstick, and practically pounced on Anthony for a good few minutes.

"Oh that's so awkward." Sybil cried, as cars tooted their horns on the way past. "They do know that people can see them, right?"

"Apparently not." Daisy responded, as they broke apart, and Edith backed away.

"Oh good, they've stopped."  
>"Hey!" Daisy shouted gleefully, tossing the curtains aside, and pressing her nose up against the window.<p>

"What's wrong?"

"She's put up the gearstick!"

Sybil frowned in confusion, and spied out of the frosty window as well, kneeling on the bench seat she and Mary bad been sitting on earlier. The gearstick seemed to be in the same position it had been in when Edith had leant over it. "What are you…" she trailed off when she realized what Daisy was on about.

"Hey! She raised the flagpole!"

Daisy crowed with laughter.

"She readied his broom!"  
>"And when I say go…" Sybil imitated Madam Hooch's lines. "I want you to mount your brooms,"<p>

"And kick off hard."

The two women collapsed in peals of laughter, Sybil falling off the bench seat, while Daisy rolled over onto her back, and scrunched her knees up to her chest.

Madame Lavender bustled in to the room, and tsked briskly at the sight of Daisy wrinkling the satin of her dress.

"Yes," Anna offered, "that is a regular occurrence for them."

Daisy straightened up, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, and turned towards the strange looks she was getting from the three other women in the room.

"What?" She asked, perfectly innocently. She glanced back to the window, and let out a strangled shreik.

"What, what what?" Sybil cried, sitting up, and smacking her head on the bench seat on the bench seat in the process.

"HE'S PUTTING THE QUAFFLE THROUGH THE GOAL POSTS!" Daisy positively bellowed, leaping off the bench seat and doing a stupid little dance around the room. Sybil pressed her nose to the window (with rather too much eager force for comfort, resulting in a dull throb), and saw that Edith indeed appeared to be mounting Anthony's broom, judging by the rolled up, tinted windows, and roof of car in appropriate position.

This appeared to be far to much fun for poor, mature Anna to stand, seeing how she dropped Mary's bridesmaid's train, and rushed to the window, also bursting into a fit of scandalised giggles, before running over to Daisy, and joining her in a messy, lively waltz. Mary rolled her eyes pointedly, though did not hesitate to run to the window when Sybil beckoned.

* * *

><p>Maid of Honour's dress number one. As the silky material pooled at her ankles, Sybil reflected back to when Daisy asked to be her maid on honour.<p>

Then…

When Sybil and Tom shared the same bed, they slept a particular way, or really badly. So, when Sybil or Tom stayed over at the other's apartment, Sybil ended up curled into a ball with her head on his chest, while he lay on his back, and attempted to regain the duvet that had ended up piled on top of Sybil, somehow. Not that he seemed to mind, usually, during the night and through the courses of duvet thievery, she would have ended up sprawled across him, and he'd be grinning like the Cheshire cat.

This was how William and Daisy found them, when they climbed through the window of Sybil's flat at five in the morning. As neither Tom nor Sybil had shown signs of waking, William had seen fit to sent Sybil's three-foot remote control Dalek rolling up and down the studio apartment screaming,

"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!" While Daisy stood over them, filming the entire scenario, in which Sybil let out a shrill scream, and rolled off Tom (and the edge of the mattress), hitting the floor with a thud, while Tom lunged at Daisy (who'd been looming over his side of the bed), grasping her by the front of the shirt, and raising his fist to punch her, before letting out a weak,

"Oh, it's you." And falling back onto the mattress.

After Sybil had some ice on her cheek, and a Tom around her, the four of them were sitting at the kitchen bench, on island stools.

"Well, Sybil, what do you say?" Daisy asked, grinning hopefully. "Oh, what the hell. YOLO." She announced, using a mocking tone when it came to YOLO. "I'd be honoured Daisy!" Daisy squealed, and threw her arms around Sybil (and consequently Tom).

"Literally." William supplied.

"What?" Tom asked, raising an eyebrow, and lifting his head over that of Daisy and his girlfriend.

"She's be honoured," William explained slowly. "Literally, because she'd a maid of _honour_."

Sybil broke the hug apart, and eyed Daisy warily.

"Are there many instances in which I might get injured again?" William let out a snort.

"Please, Sybil, It's our wedding." Sybil nodded, feeling reassured. "Of course there are." She rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p>"Ack!" Sybil screamed, before she could help herself. The image reflected back at her in the full-length mirror was like something from Doctor Who- tulle, tulle everywhere, with a full skirt, beginning at over boob height, and finishing at her knees, puffing out everywhere.<p>

"What's wrong, Sybil?"

"I'm not meant to wear the fucking cake!"

Madam Lavender, Anna, Daisy and Mary all burst into the small cubicle, squishing each other against a wall.

"Oh, you look lovely!" Anna and Mary crooned, the former with her face squashed elegantly against the mirror.

"I look like a Yeti!"

"You look most beautiful, Mademoiselle Crawley." Madam Lavender informed her in a fake French accent nearly as bad as Sybil's.

"Don't you start!"

"Daisy?"

Daisy considered it for a moment.

"I like it, but I want to see the others."

"Okay."

"Fair enough."

"Yes."

"Oui."

The five women all stood there, rather awkwardly.

"Well, I'm not going to do it if you're planning on watching." There were nods, and the four others filed out of the change room, allowing each other room to breathe.

The next one was quite nice. It was 1920s style, reaching to her calves, with a drop waist, and a geometric horizontal zigzag pattern snaked its' way around the entirety of the glossy, white, layered fabric, in silver, with a faint violet shimmer to it, blending in with the wedding theme.

"Oh, Daisy!" She cried, flinging the curtain aside, and sweeping into the circular room. "Oh, how fabulous!"

The others seemed to agree, nodding in approval. Daisy, however, wrinkled her nose up.

"You look like a jazzy angel."

"Oh!" Sybil cried in disappointment. "But isn't that so cool?"

"Not really." Sybil hung her head, and went back to the cubicle.

Number three was positively horrifying. An apparent variation of number one- an explosion of tulle, only this time, sparkling. Sparkles and tulle everywhere, sparkling ruffles, silver and violet on white, strapless, and terrifying.

"Don't you even dare." Sybil warned, as she stormed out of the changing room, pointing menacingly at Daisy.

"But, mademoi-" Madame Lavender attempted to interject.

"NO!" Sybil cried. "I look like Elton John exploded!"

"But-"

"The only use you'll get from this is if you hand me from the light fittings and use me as a disco ball!"

"Sybil, it's my wedding!" Daisy protested.

"And I respect that! And I would willingly wear it, as a friend, but…"

She picked at the material and gave a small shudder. Daisy sighed.

"I'll think about it. Go for number four." Sybil hurried back into the changing room, and gladly slipped off the monstrosity.

Number four was spectacular. Obviously inspired by Kate and Will's wedding (to which Sybil had been in attendance, and could not see for duck poo, as she had been stuck behind a woman with a UFO of a hat, and had been forced to watch the re-runs on television), and she found herself in something similar to Pippa's bridesmaid's dress. She loved the tight, figure hugging material that floated gracefully to the ground, which shimmered faintly silver, with a line of violet buttons trailing their way down to her backside, the sort sleeves, and rumpled neckline.

"Daisy!" She cried. "Oh, Daisy, I love this dress!" She announced, coming to stand before the bride to be, "I'm dumping Tom, and running away with this dress!" She cried, spinning around. Daisy laughed, and applauded.

"Oh, yes. I like it!" She cried, "But I want to see the next one!" Sybil laughed, and posed for a picture, before scurrying back to the changing rooms. Okay, so she wasn't eloping with this dress. The though of dumping Tom… she shuddered. At the moment, she wasn't quite sure how she'd managed to scrape by without him, for all of her life.

Yes, they'd only been going out for six weeks, but still, she honestly was baffled as to what else in her life she might do, if not be with Tom.  
>And she'd probably pass out from not getting… well… erm… What? She couldn't help it! He was <em>really<em> good!

Shaking the thoughts from her head, she slipped out of the dress, and pulled on the final number. As she zipped it up, she realized that she had previously been wearing Legolass, and was now wearing the Aragorn of all dresses- how anything/body could be that unbelievably beautiful was beyond her.

The bodice was silky with faint transparent sequins forming intricate patterns, mingled with mauve, and a faint silvery shine woven into the fabric. And then there was the skirt.

Oh yes, in a dress, there tended to be skirts.

Why couldn't she just wear this beautiful bodice, and walk around in her knickers?

"Daisy?" Sybil asked timidly, popping her head out from around the curtain.

"Mmm?" Daisy asked, glancing up from the headpieces she was examining. When she saw Sybil, her face lit up, and a grin spread across her features.

"Oh, Sybil, Sybil, Sybil."

"Daisy…"

"Yes. I want that one."

"Daisy!"

"Yes."

Sybil glanced down at the skirt mournfully.

* * *

><p>They dispersed at six, the dark just beginning to grace the skies. As they exited the boutique (with Madame Lavender following them bossily to the door), they were hit with a flurry of snow. Momentarily blinded by snow and shock, she shrieked when two hands snaked their way around her waist.<p>

"It's only me." Tom's comforting lilt murmured in her ear. She grinned as the snow passed, leaving her hair and eyebrows cold and wet, but didn't particularly mind as she pressed her lips to Tom's.

"Evening." She muttered into his cheek when they broke apart.

"Hey, you." He whispered, kissing her again. Her personal new year's eve had been going in to overdrive of late, and now was not helping the workload. They were brought out of their Love Actually style sop by Mary's cold tones.

"Oh joy, they're at it again."

"Your husband is in bed." Tom informed Mary. "He's fine, sleeping it off." Mary nodded once, and took a sudden interest in her fabulous (as always) shoes.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, ladies." Tom announced, gripping Sybil's hand. "I need to take this beautiful woman out to dinner before I injure myself out of sheer despair for not." Sybil giggled as he pulled her past Anna and Mary, and turning to wave goodbye as she found herself being carted off to the nearest burger joint.

Tom's face, when he was shaking snow from his hair, him standing in the sudden warmth of the diner, his cheeks rosy from the cold, his blue eyes twinkling, his grey coat and red scarf damp from the flakes, and a serious expression on his features, she sighed.

They ordered, and found a booth; Sybil rested her chin in her palms and continued to observe her boyfriend as he finished his article on his brick of a laptop, and sent it off hopefully once more, to yet another publishing medium. He lowered the lid, and slid the device back into his satchel.

She couldn't elope with a dress.

She ought to stop worrying about it.

It was a joke.

A funny joke.

And she wasn't leaving Tom any time soon- ever.

Stop talking like that! You've only been together for six weeks!

But what would she do?

She'd be broken hearted.

Maybe she'd cry, and turn into a woo girl.

'_Woooooooo! I'm living in a pit of despair and misery!'_ or _'Woooooooooo! I found a half eaten block of chocolate under the sofa!'_

"Sybil?" The Irish lilt brought her back into reality, though not without a start. "Bloody hell! Are you alright?" Tom cried in shock, as he hurried around the booth to help pull her up from where she'd slipped down from the shiny, slippery bench seat, and underneath the table, as her arms had flown out from beneath her chin in surprise.

"Yep, yep, I'm fine." She responded, heaving herself up into the seat, with Tom's help.

"You hurt your forehead." Tom observed.

"What?" She asked, raising a hand to the warm skin, though she felt no abrasion.

"You've got a mark." He responded, holding up a spoon polished to Mr Carson's levels of perfection for her to look at herself upside down. Indeed, there did appear to be a red, table shaped mark there. After a moment of incredulous annoyance, Tom's hand enclosed her wrist, and puled the spoon away. Gently, he leaned up, and pressed his lips to the battle scar. This gentleness softened her nerves, and she smiled her Tom smile when he pulled away.

"Too sweet." She murmured, leaning in to his broad chest.

"So what's the matter?"

This startled her, though thankfully not as violently as before.

"Nothing." She responded quickly. "Why do you ask?" Tom scoffed.

"Because you injured yourself. That's what you do when you're nervous- do you really think I wouldn't have noticed the pattern relating to you throwing yourself around like a ragdoll?"

She sighed in pretend annoyance, but couldn't help but giggle slightly all the same.

"Well," She began. "Today at the fitting-"

"A crazed bride to be batted you with her handbag?"

"No!"

"Oh. Well, go on then."

"Today at the fitting, Daisy made me try on this gorgeous dress, and I said, 'I'm dumping Tom and running away with this dress', and now I feel funny."

"…"

"Because then I started thinking about what would happen if we did split up, and that it was creepy, because we'd only been going out for six weeks, and then I started thinking about you, and then turning into one of those women who cry themselves to sleep with a bucket of ice cream over an episode of Coronation Street, and-"

"Shush, you crazy woman!" Tom interrupted affectionately, lifting her off his chest and turning her around to face him.

"You, know something?"

"Hm?"

"I think you're in love with me."

She jerked her arms violently, and smacked her elbows on the edge of the table.

"W-what?"

"I think you're in love with me. Only you're too afraid to admit it." Her gaze fixed pointedly at his jaw. And she said something that might have been 'I don't know what you're talking about', had it not sounded something similar to high-pitched whine. She felt his chest rumble as he chuckled, and his hands gently made their way to either side of her face, the rough and hardened skin warm against her skin.

"And- I've held it in up until now, but I can't, not any longer. I've told myself and told myself that it's too soon, but- oh, God, I love you, Sybil. I love you."

She felt her eyelids grow wider and wider open, until her eyeballs felt cold and dried out. Her heartbeat dramatically increased, and her stomach jumped out of her body and ran across the room screaming "I'M FREE!"

She felt giddy and unstable, and sweat began beading on her forehead. Her eye started twitching, and twitching, and didn't really stop. Tom's brow crinkled in concern, and it was then (only three minutes after he'd told her that he was in love with her, and she'd sat there half winking at him like some sort of nutter), that she reacted.

And that was by letting out a strangled shriek, and toppling out of Tom's grip, and consequently the booth.  
>"Sybil-"<p>

But she'd scrambled up, and was half way out of the diner before he could finish his sentence.

The cold hit her like a wall that some idiot had strung up on a crane and tossed it at her. She stumbled down the street, tears stinging her eyes, before over flowing and trickling down her cheeks, and pooling on her cheekbones.

"Sybil!" He shouted, somewhere behind her, but she dived further into the crowd, and allowed herself to be swept along as they crossed the street. She was somewhere, walking quickly and shakily behind everybody else, those she passed staring at her curiously. In the distance, she saw Christmas lights, and navigated her way to them, rudely shoving people aside, until she stumbled through the gates of the park. At some point, she'd found some grass, and collapsed onto it, frost and snow soaking through her clothes, and onto her back. Oh, God, what had she done? He'd told her- she'd- IT WAS OVER A DRESS- no, not the dress, definitely not a dress- And now she was on the ground of Hyde Park- WHAT THE HELL WAS SHE DOING?

She was cold, and hungry, and upset and confused, and, as she fumbled for her phone in her jeans pocket, there was only one person, on this earth, who could solve her problems.

She answered after the third ring.  
>"Granny? It's me. Oh, god, I've done something stupid…"<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Uh, sorry about all the sex metaphors. When I wrote the majority of this, I was sick, tired and emotional (all of which will be explained later, as the story derives the slightest of amusement), and they appeared entertaining. <strong>_

_**So, school finished up, so everybody was crying like **_**_butters, and one of my friends was leaving, so we had a party after school, and everybody started tossing water around, so I got sick. Yeah.  
>BUT, anyway, please give me your thoughts, and I'll try and update sooner!<em>**

**_Please review! Xx_**


	10. Chapter 10

_**I own nothing.**_

* * *

><p>"Sybil, you baffle me." Snapped Granny.<p>

Sybil didn't say anything, preferring to continue to sniffle into her sofa cushion.

"Oh, please stop that ridiculous noise." Sybil looked up at Violet, eyes wide and damp. Violet pursed her lips (her favourite form of unwilling sympathy), and leant on her cane. "Drink more tea." She passed Sybil the cup, and watched her closely as she tentatively sipped the beverage.

"Now, firstly, you make us endure mountains of suffering while you go on and on about how wonderful this man is and how happy you are you won't _shut up_ for anything," Granny paused and considered, "Then, when he tells you he loves you, you run like a wild animal- why, we have no clue."

"Granny, I know you've always offered, and I always say no, but," Granny leant forwards, and gave her the eagle like stare that had a tendency to make people flinch. "But," She continued, cautiously. "Would you please fix my life?"

Granny sat down and smiled graciously.

"Well, now. I think that's manageable." Sybil worriedly sipped her tea once more. "But firstly, we must clear some room for sense." This statement made her cringe. "Now, do you love this boy?"

"I- I don't know."

Granny's frown could have made the elderly face crack in two.

"You try on a dress, and you start panicking because you think about being without him. He then tells you he loves you, where you proceed bawl your eyes out, and you start frolicking in Hyde Park like some kind of hippy," More tea. "And you tell me that you've never felt like this before. But that's not love, of course, how silly, how ridiculous."

"But I don't-"

"Sybil." Granny interrupted, with pursed lips, the expression she wore when she was becoming impatient. "Think for a moment, use your brain, and close your eyes."

Sybil quirked an eyebrow, but nodded, and did as she was bid. "Now, imagine kissing that slimy boy."

"Larry?"

"Of course, whom else would I be talking about? Don't interrupt."

"Yes Granny."

"Are you imagining it?"

"Unfortunately."

"How did it feel?"

"Creepy."

"Good."

"Why?"

"I don't want to be the one to tempt you into going back to him. He set my teeth on edge."

"Me too."

"Now imagine kissing my future grandson in law."

"Granny!"

"I'm sorry my dear, but I have high expectations. I like this one."

Sybil huffed in annoyance.

"Now, how does it feel?"

Sybil though for a moment, and her eyes flew open. She knew.

"Oh, Granny. Granny thank you!" Sybil dived on her phone, and selected Tom's contact with shaking hands.

There came no reply.

She tried again.

No reply. She snatched up Granny's Violet's landline, and dialled again.

No response.

And again.

No response.

She tried Sarah, and got no response.

She dropped the handset back on the receiver, and looked at Granny.

"I need to see him." She whispered. Granny nodded.

"I'd expected as much." Sybil snatched up her phone, and ran outside without so much as a by your leave. She went to hail a taxi, and then she realized- her bag had been left behind when she'd ran out of the diner, she had no money.

"Bugger, arse, wank and shit." She snarled quietly to herself, doing what one does in distress: quote Love Actually.

And so she started to run.

The first place she went was the diner- he wasn't there and neither were her things. Then she tried his flat.

Slamming her hands on the door, and beating the doorbell to submission. After a few minutes, the creepy Jeff answered the door.

So Sarah was evidently home alone, seeing as how Jeff answered the door covered only by the front and arse pillow.

Sybil wrinkled her nose.

"Ew," she muttered, pushing past him, and bursting into Sarah's room, the inhabitant screaming and covering herself with a bed sheet.

"I've seen it all before." Sybil grunted, "That's an average Saturday for you- where's your brother?"

"I dunno!" She shrieked, causing Sybil to huff. "Well, where could he be?"

"At work, maybe? At the pub, or if he's upset, at a friends."

"Text me the addresses!" Sybil cried, hurrying out of the door. As she ran to the pub (where they'd met, painfully enough), she tried his phone again, and once more, gotten no response. A brief scan of the bar yielded no Irishman, and she cursed, turning to run out of the door, and promptly slamming into a patron entering. She fell over backwards, and landed painfully on her back.

"Don't worry about it, she does that a lot." The familiar bartender informed the patron. Sybil scrambled to her feet, and grinned briefly at the man, before diving out of the door.

She read the address of Alfred's flat from the message Sarah had sent, and she began running in that direction. And she tried his number again, still yielding no response.

"Oh, god what have I done?" She whispered, as she ran to Alfred's door. She hammered on the chipping painted wood until it opened, and Tom's friend with the long mouth who'd found Edith attractive opened the door.

"Sybil Crawley, Tom's girlfriend, you must be Alfred, nice to meet you, heard a lot about you, all good I hope," she let out a large false laugh, "Now, have you seen my boyfriend?"

Alfred eyed her nervously.

"Er, no, sorry."

"Can you phone him for me?" He nodded, and dialled, though apparently it yielded no response, as Alfred hung up and shook his head. Sybil cursed under her breath, and nodded.

"Thank you! See you later!" She shouted, already half way down the path. And the last place was the garage.

Heart thumping in her chest, she paused at the garage door, and closed her eyes.

"Please let him be here. Please let him be alright." She whispered, before pushing the handle and walking inside. It was concrete all over; paint was peeling, and electric lights illuminating the shadows, and she walked reservedly to the desk.

"Hullo?" She asked, the elderly man looked up and smiled.

"Hello there, how can I help you?"

"I'm sorry, but does Tom Branson work here?" The man blinked and nodded.

"Yeah, he's out the back." All the air seemed to leave Sybil's lungs, and she felt weak at the knees.

"Can I see him?" She asked, already barging her way through the door to the work floor. And there he was.

Well, the first thing she saw was his arse. The bonnet of the car was up, and he was bending over it, reaching to the back, straining his navy blue coveralls ever so slightly. Oh, that backside.

"Tom."

He looked around, and Sybil really saw his face. His eyes were the calmest of blues, and she could feel herself getting lost in them- they exuded kindness, love, desire, and everything she felt when she saw him. His pale skin shadowed by stubble, his circles around his eyes, raw from crying- oh god, she'd made him cry.

He said nothing, but turned to face her, cleaning the spanner he'd been holding with the rag dangling from the pocket of his coveralls, intently.

"Tom, I-" She looked around, jumping with nerves, and tears burning her eyes. "Granny said…" What was she meant to say? So she settled with:

"I tried to call you." Tom nodded, and continued working on the spanner, before mumbling mere reply of,

"My phone's broken." Forgetting the situation, her eyes widened, and she grinned.

"How? Did you make a crater or what?" Tom chuckled slightly, but did not look up. Sybil mover her head to look down her shoulder, a curtain of hair spooning her face.

"I, er, spoke to Granny." She began, turning back to look at him. He was inspecting the spanner, and polishing furiously, though she could tell he was listening. She quickly turned to look at the door leading from the office to the work floor; around a corner from the one she'd entered in, and saw the elderly man watching through the porthole window. She frowned, and gestured with her hand for him to look away, which he did, reluctantly.

"And she said-" And then the word vomit came. "I imagined kissing Larry, and felt sick, and then imagined kissing you, and it all came and hit me- _you_. You're the best person I've ever met, you help me up when I fall over, you cook in the mornings, you're passionate and caring and rough and gentle at the same time and you never make me do it if I don't want to, though with you… I always feel _that_ when you do, and by god, you're attractive! And I was running around like an idiot tonight because I left my Oyster card in my bag, and I was trying to find you, and I felt so helpless, because I thought I'd lost you, and if that was how I felt after one evening, how I feel if we really… and I've spent all this time freaking out about the relationship moving too fast, and not working, and I realised that that doesn't matter! Love is love, and _I love you_, and it comes in so many different packages, it doesn't matter how it happens, and what the hell was I thinking running out of there, I just felt so bad because I'd been thinking about not being with you, and then- oh my god, I just said I love you." Tom had looked up when she said it the first time, his handsome eyes filled with emotion.

"And I do, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!" She cried, in slight hysterics. The spanner dropped from Tom's hands, and he flew at her, collecting her in an embrace, and pressing his mouth to hers. The kiss was filled with want and need and love and passion, and, she reflected, as her arms snaked their way around his neck, she never wanted to leave. Tom was hers, and she loved him with every fibre of her being, and that was all there was to it. They parted, and stood there, staring at each other. Suddenly, Tom's face broke into a smile- the one she loved, and he pressed his forehead to hers.

"I love you." He whispered, in his embracing Irish lilt.

"I love you too." She replied, giggling slightly.

"Why… why did you…" She sighed, and cast a look over his shoulder.  
>"I don't know- I suppose I just… I wanted it to… I've been so worried about everything… Oh, goodness, I need more word vomit." She buried her face into his neck. "I just freaked. I wasn't thinking straight. Or at all, and you were all hot and Irish and lovely and oh my God." His upper body rumbled as he laughed.<p>

"You are such a… Sybil."

"And what's that supposed to mean, mister?"

"And what was hot and Irish supposed to mean?" He chuckled into her hair.

"You are such an idiot."

"Charming."

"Oh, but I'm just too busy being breezy to be charming."

* * *

><p>The kettle was boiling, accompanied by a loud whistle that came with the model that didn't run from electricity.<br>"So, you interrupted my sister banging my best friend's brains out-"

"And saw him with an arse pillow." Tom whistled in mocking, and Sybil poked him in the stomach.

"And then you attacked a random in the pub-"

"I fell over."

"Oh, so you Sybilled over a random in the pub, and then you terrorized Alfred, and then you met my boss."

"Sure did!"

"And you ran all over."

"Yep." He grinned, but not his usual grin, the one he gave when he was about to make a joke.

"I must say, I'm very impressed." The conversation paused, while she inspected her shoes bashfully. "But, have a look at this." Imitating his actions before in the restaurant, he retrieved the spoon from the coffee pot, polished it on his coveralls, and held it up to her face, she studied her reflection for a moment, before burying her it into her hands.

"Oh, Aragron." She groaned, laughing slightly. Tom was doubled over with laughter, his cries of mirth ricocheting off the concrete walls.

She had a faint, but hardly invisible bruise from when she'd slipped and hit her head on the table, and, from when she'd been crying and rubbing Granny's sofa cushions all over her face, her eye make up had smudged all over her cheeks and nose.

Bloody liquid eyeliner.

"I ran all over town, terrorizing the villagers, looking like the joker." She cried, though her words were not untainted by laughter, when Tom finally straightened up.

"Come on, you make a very pretty joker." He reasoned, tipping milk into the mug. "If I were Batman, I'd tap that."

* * *

><p>"When did you know?" He asked suddenly, and she looked up from her tea to Tom, who had lifted his head from the engine to talk to her. She smiled, and replied,<p>

"I knew tonight. But I've been in love with you… since I heard you talking. About politics, and how passionate you are." She smiled, her body exploding with the emotions one felt when one was in love. "And not just on our first date, before, when I couldn't talk."

"Ah, our first date, I remember it well." Tom reminisced fondly, though she knew he wasn't being entirely serious. "You were so beautiful, you _breezed_ in through the door after standing outside the pub for a good half an hour, and then _breezed_ over to where I was sitting, and told me how _breezy_ you were-"

"And you kissed me, and I was gone." She finished, tossing a rag at him playfully. He dodged, and winked at her, smiling cheekily. "And when did you know?" She asked, and he withdrew his head from the bonnet again.

"Well, one minute, I was sitting there, and then Jeff nudged me, and told me that this fit bird was staring at me, and he pointed to you, and I saw you sitting there, with all your friends and sisters, and I heard William tell you-"

"That I'd never drooled over a bloke in my life, yes." She finished, blushing scarlet.

"And I knew." She looked up from her tea once more, to see her boyfriend leaning against the car casually, fiddling with a piece of wire.

"…just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Love at first sight?"

"Love at first sight." He confirmed, nodding. She felt her face stretch into a smile, and she dipped her head back down to inspect her tea.

"For God's sake, Tom." The elderly man interrupted with resign, surprising both of them who had not noticed him leaning in the doorway. "It's not even your shift, I'm not paying you, and you've finished moping. If you're not going to _do_ anything, go _home_."

And so, Sybil and Tom found themselves running through the crowded streets of London, with sore hearts and enormous smiles, and snow swirling around them.

And for now, none of the pain matters. Because they're young and in love, and, as far as they're concerned, they're running from the pain and sadness, and to the future worth having. And they both know, that those futures are wound so closely together, they're almost entirely the same.  
>Though not quite.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>1. I'm very sorry about the last chapter, and I hope this fairy floss of a chapter makes up for it!<br>2. Thank you for your reviews, favourites and alerts! 50 reviews in 9 chapters- I LOVE YOU GUYS! Your support is really encouraging, and very inspiring :D  
>3. I'm sorry for not acknowledging that last time.<br>4. Hobbit in three days!  
>5. I'll try and get back to you before Christmas.<strong>_

Please review! Xxx


	11. Chapter 11

_**I own nothing- sorry, this chapter is unedited!**_

* * *

><p>"Sybil, darling!" Cried Cora, swooping down the grand staircase of Downton Abbey, and trapping her youngest daughter in a hug worthy of Rubeus Hagrid, in terms of bone crushing… ness?<p>

"Sybil!" Her father added, leaping into the foray of hugging.

"Ack! Papa!"

"Oh, how are you, how have you been?" Her mother began, before continuing in one long breath. "Are you alright for money? How is university? Are your courses going well? How is Tom, are you two going well? Are the others all right? What are Daisy's thoughts on the planning, is she content with the arrangements? And what of the dresses? Oh, do they look so beautiful? How about William? Is he nervous?"

"Mama!" Clam down, you'll over exert yourself!"

"Your mother has had many years of practice in that particular field- she can talk for hours on end." Robert jested, wrapping an arm around his now scowling wife. "Though it is never, ever entirely unsolicited." Robert cooed, bowing his head to reach her lips.

"Urgh, PDA." Sybil interrupted pointedly. Robert's face gained a small smile, and Cora looked as though she'd very much like to break into a fit of giggles.

"You haven't changed since you were a child, in some ways."

"Have too!" She replied, pointedly employing a childish demeanor, and poking out her tongue.

"So, no Tom?" Cora enquired. Sybil pouted, and shook her head.

"No, I'm afraid not." She replied sadly.

At the same time, Cora grimaced in disappointment, and Robert broke out into the creepiest grin Sybil had ever seen. "No need to look so happy." She informed her father playfully, though the underlying note of seriousness hung in the air.

"Too soon in the relationship?" Cora guessed, sympathetically, not picking up on the true depth of the exchange.

"It's not too soon until it becomes 'I love you'." Robert interjected conversationally. The ancient hall seemed bigger and more awkwardly empty than it actually was.

"Well, in that case it's not too soon," Sybil replied, and before her parent's astounded faces could utter any other words, she continued vociferously, "though Sarah's taken a few days of celibacy, so it's pretty much safe for him to spend the six to ten thirty period at home."

Her mother now looked worried, and her father extremely flustered.

"Sarah's lovely, though." Sybil continued hurriedly, sensing that she'd put her foot it to some extremities. "Well, not lovely, she's just- she's really cool- not cool- nice person- no- she's a good person, she can be very nice, only she's younger than me, a few years, and quite taken with the 'wild life', so to speak- oh goodness, I've gone into word vomit mode."

Both of her parents grinned nervously.

"She's named after Sarah Jane Smith."

"Oh, I see!" They replied in unison, nodding in approval.

Amazing what a fandom can do.

"Well, I'm going to go upstairs and… unpack. I'll be back down shortly." And with that she shot upstairs, past both of her parents, and was on the second floor landing before they could even blink.

"Tom, I stuffed up already." She informed his brand new voicemail. "I may or may not have blurted your sister's escapades to my parents, but they think she's cool because of her namesake."

She heard a familiar mock-war cry, and crossed worriedly to the widow, wrenching back the thick sheers, and saw William and Daisy's rental car, with a familiar blonde head poking out of the window. Christmas at Downton- all of the three girls' friends and partners, and partners of friends were invited every year, without fail. This year, however, Sybil's parents were jetting out to Paris on Christmas morning at four (yes, _four_. On Christmas? Eugh), so Christmas eve's dinner was grander than usual, though Martha simply refused to set so much as a diamond encrusted foot (well, figuratively anyway) outside of New York- much to Granny's delight, while Cora's best friend from university and her little accomplice were spending their Christmas in the antipodes (Sarah and Thomas were very choosy, apparently the prospect of undercooked prawns on the barbeque was much more tempting than that of an English manor house in the snow), and of this, Granny could not be more delighted. Unfortunately, however, this year, Edith and Anthony had favoured a holiday in Italy.

"Daisy and William are here- hopefully he'll embarrass himself some more and they'll forget about Sarah and Jeff's persistent yodelling contests." She dropped the curtains, and turned back to the room, and took a few paces away from the window. "Well, I'd better go- I'll talk to you later." She paused again and smiled boldly. "I love you, baby. I'll never get used to saying that!" She cried, with an excited squeal. "I love saying that! I love telling you that I love you- is that a double negative? No, it's happy. It must be a double positive. I sound like a teenager, don't I? Oh well. I love you!"

She hung up, and tossed her phone on her Downton bed. She quickly surveyed her reflection in the mirror, and fixed her train hair (the slightly less terrifying equivalent of bed hair) with her fingers, and turned sideways to observe her profile- dark blue denim jeans, tucked into calf high black leather boots, a baby doll bodice blouse printed in varying shades of reds, and pinks on a white background, under a navy blue blazer. Nice and respectable for home, and still herself.

She flew down the stairs, eager to say hello, slipped on the bottom one, tumbled onto the enormous first landing, thankfully unharmed.

"Oh, it's Sybil." Daisy's voice remarked drily, and Sybil, from her position spread-eagled on the landing, replied,

"Or you could see if I'm alright. But nah, just go with the comic retort- oh! A penny!" She cried happily- the angle of her head provided her with the perfect vision of the aforementioned coin jammed in the nostril of the weeping couple.

"Penny?" William cried literally diving over the banister, and sprawling on the ground beside her. "Where?" He enquired eagerly.

"Where's this penny?" Her mother enquired curiously, wandering up the stairs, and hunkering down on the ground beside William, and squinting as to where she was looking.

"Where? I can't see."

"There- in the nose." Sybil said, pointing.

"Awwwh!" Cora cried, in a most un lady like fashion, "that's so gross!"

"There's a penny?" Daisy asked, manoeuvring her way across the landing, and delicately plopping herself down between Sybil and William. "Wow!" She whispered. "I wonder how old it is!"

"Milady?" Came the rumbling voice of the family's butler, Mr Carson. A long life of Carsons (all of whom had been named Charles- an original piece of art on the parent's side) since the late 1890s had ruled the servant's world of Downton Abbey- through thick and thin, the butler, Charles Carson, with enormous ears, gargantuan noses, and the posture of a steel lamp post. "May I enquire as to why this instance is occurring?"

"There's a penny up this statue's nose!" William supplied happily, pointing (moving his arm so vigorously, and succeeding in whacking his beloved in the ear) to the offending coin. Mr Carson's face blanched, and he hurried to the statue, inspecting it. He let out an involuntary cry of shock, and turned to Robert, who was coming up the stairs.

"I do beg your pardon, milord. This has apparently missed our cleaning-"

"Don't fret, Carson." Robert interrupted, with a wave of his hand, before squatting down behind Sybil's head, and gazing up in wonder at the sight of a coin jammed within the confines of an antique- relic, really, marble statue.

"What's going on here?" Anna's familiar voice enquired, from somewhere in the hall, and after a moment, she joined Cora on the floor.

"Ah, Bates, Anna." Robert greeted joyfully. "There's a penny in the statue's nose!" He added cheerfully.

"A penny in a statue's nose?" The voice of the housekeeper, Mrs Hughes, a kindly old Scottish woman with a large heart, and vast loyalty, from across the hall.

And then, Mr Carson reached out to try and remove it-

"NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!" Bellowed everybody who had congregated on the landing, more or less on top of Sybil.

"Leave it where it is." Robert instructed, and then, in his Dad slang way: "It's pretty cool!" Mr Carson appeared perplexed, but pedalled back from the ornament anyway.

"But don't you want to know how old it is?" Asked William. A hush fell over the staircase as they considered this.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe that I never noticed this before!" Cora exclaimed conversationally to Anna, who replied wholeheartedly, as Sybil came down the stairs.<p>

"I still can't tell- it's too dark." Robert announced, from his place before the statue, magnifying glass in hand, studying the intricate patters of an old coin.

"Here- book light." Sybil offered, switching the LED, and holding it up to the nostril so to cast light on the situation.

Literally.

"Ack!" Robert cried, straightening up and blinking rapidly. "Did you have to shine it in my eyes?"

"Sorry, Papa!"

"Here, I'll try." William offered, taking the magnifying glass from Robert, and lifting it to the nose. After a moment of silence:

"You're not looking at the penny, are you Will?" Sybil asked.

"No, I am not."

"Statues don't have… _boogers_, William!"

"Well I want to check anyway!"

"That's really gross! You are such a boy!"

"There's a reason for that!"

"Oh, it's nice to know that it's all there."

"Sybil!" Cora reprimanded, though failing entirely to hide her smile.

"Hey- I think I see something!" William exclaimed, and Sybil found herself caught up in the immediate crush as the others pressed forwards in excitement. "Wait- no, that's just gum."

"Is he still obsessing over the bodily fluids of a statue?" Mary enquired, as she strutted gracefully from the drawing room, one hand on her pearls (she and Matthew had arrived some time after the discovery of the penny- her husband was the one currently responsible for the position of Sybil's face: squashed against John's back), and not even waiting for a reply, crossed to the front doors and vanished.

William's finger disappeared up the nose to poke the mysterious substance, resulting in a resounding "Ew," though after some wiggling around, the worrying sound of stone grating against stone echoed out through the hall. This seemed to be some kind of cue for everybody to take a step back, though Sybil had obviously missed that memo, sprawling backwards over Matthew.

"Oof!" Matthew muttered in surprise, and with the effort of hoisting her back to her feet- her balance had promptly flung its self out of a window, leaving her alone, save for the company provided by her flailing limbs. "How does Tom do this every bloody day?"

"Not on weekdays! Then I'm at uni."

"Oh?"

"… Well, then I just fall."

"Right."

"I think we should leave the statue." Anna announced, in her motherly fashion, hoarding everybody down the stairs (with Cora's assistance), this being conducted in complete silence until the faintest of metallic tingles as the penny bounced off the smooth marble surface of the figure, and the dull thud as it landed on the rich, ancient carpet.

William dived on it- quite literally.

"1912!" He shouted victoriously, eliciting a cheer from the group.

Until the nose dropped off the statue's face, landing a mere hair's breadth from William's head, at which point he screamed at an extremely high pitch, and suddenly he'd leapt into Daisy's arms, his own fastening around her neck in a grip of steel, his tiny fiancée staggering dangerously under his weight. The statues are after me!"

The Doctor Who reference was lost on nobody- indicating that (for everybody's piece of mind), a sheet adorned the statue like a veil.

"Now," Robert repeated, from his position on a chaise lounge in the centre of the hall. "If the sheet moves, we clobber the thing." Here he jiggled the metal baseball bat in his hand.

"What should Mrs Hughes do about dinner?" Mr Carson enquired, tactfully ignoring the fact that Mrs Hughes (a devoted Whovian since '79) was edging further and further around Downton's magnificent Christmas tree.

"We'll eat in here." Mary supplied. "We can find a trestle table-"

"That'll leave us exposed." William supplied. "We need more cover."

"More cover? It's a statue!" Mr Carson burst out, very much before he could stop himself. His face was a very dark shade of crimson, and a vein was throbbing in his temple. Behind Sybil, from her perch on the floor, William gripped onto her upper arms, and positioned himself behind her.

"William!" Sybil admonished. "Why aren't you looking at it? You're on watching duty! How would you like it if we all got killed by the thing, because you didn't watch it?"

"My eyeballs are drying out!"

"What, may I ask, is going on?" Came Granny's terse tones from the doorway.

"Granny! It's the weeping angels, Granny!"

"What?" She enquired, with a demeanour of false patience.

"They've all gone mad, milady." Mr Carson murmured sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"No, Carson. They have not- we crossed that bridge years ago." Granny assured, leaning heavily on her cane.

* * *

><p>Sybil's phone rang. The trill startled the party, who jumped slightly- averting their eyes from the statue.<p>

"LOOK AT IT!" Sybil cried, not shifting her own gaze, as she fumbled blindly for her phone.

"Hello?" She enquired, still not averting her gaze from the statue.

"No, no, don't be afraid. Let us only pray that the Doctor will arrive in time." She heard Granny reassuring Daisy in the background.

"Sybil!" Tom's Irish lilt was woven with relief.

"What's wrong?" She asked, clapping a hand to her cheek.

"Jeff's stuffing my sister's stocking." He confided miserably.

"Oh, you poor thing!" She cried. "What happened to those ear plugs?"

"I think they've been involved in the process."

"Ew! Where would they… oh, yuck."

"What are you going to do?"

"I've tried taking a walk in the park. But that can only take so long, but I got cold, and apparently sitting by the playground made me 'creepy'."

She made a sympathetic noise in response.

"And I lost feeling in my nose."

"Not your nose! I love your nose!"

"I tried having a drink in the pub, but an old truckie grabbed me and used my shoulder as a Kleenex, and Alfred, Kieran, Jimmy, David, my John, Arthur, Noel, other David and Rob are all role playing."

"Role playing?"

"Dungeons and dragons."

"…They're into that sort of thing?"

"Kieran's really good at the voices."

"Oh-kay."

"So, after that rather entertaining recount of my needy and sad Christmas eve, can I ask if that offer to sped Christmas with you is still open?"

"Of course it is! Can you get a train?"

"Oh, good God." Robert muttered, looking at her mournfully.

"Papa!" Sybil admonished. "Bonding time with the sister's… fallen through!"

"Had a hole drilled in the middle." Tom murmured into the receiver. "There's a train due to arrive at three."

"We'll see you then, love- I'll come and meet you."

"You don't have to-"

"Yes I do, otherwise your nose might drop off, and then-"

"DON'T TALK ABOUT NOSES DROPPING OFF!" William bellowed in Sybil's ear, causing her to scream and slip off her own balls of her feet, and crash painfully sideways into an unoccupied chair.

"Sounds like you need me there." Tom said with a chuckle. "I'll see you at three, love."

"Alright. I love you!"

"I love you too."

She hung up, and grinned slightly.

"Tom for Christmas?" Robert asked, distaste hidden beneath a veneer of conversational politeness.

"Tom for Christmas?" William asked, grabbing onto Sybil's shoulders from behind, and throwing himself onto her back, his head appearing over her shoulder.

"Yes. Yes he is."

"So suddenly we're good enough?"

"Papa!" She cried. "Don't be so horrid! He tried to spend time with his sister, who he hasn't had a proper conversation with since she was sixteen, but she's ignoring him again!"

"Oh, she's having loud sex with Jeff again?" William enquired sympathetically.

"Yes, and it- how do you know about that?"

"We talk."

"…You do?"

"Yeah. He told me about it the other day when we went for a drink."

"…You did?"

"Yeah! After you gave me concussion!"

"I thought we agreed not to talk about that!"

"Tom's coming?" Cora interrupted, with her creepy motherly grin. "Wonderful! The more the merrier!"

"Thank you, Mama."

* * *

><p>William didn't want to stay behind. Sybil had tried, and tried, but he insisted that if all the others got 'zapped into the past like the dishy detective', she'd need an accomplice to help her contact the Doctor, and to help her save the day, and for that she needed somebody grounded and sensible to stop the responsibility overwhelming her (he said, as he tripped over his own feet).<p>

And so, he strapped himself into the passenger seat of her Downton car ("I've seen you drive- and in this instance, you're not."), and they were off.

It was a ten minute drive to the station.

"_AND IIIIII-EY-IIIIII-EY, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOOOOOOUUUUUUUUHOOOOOOUOAWH_-"

"WILLIAM, SHUT UP!"

"IIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOOOOOUUUUUUUU!"

"PLEASE STOP!"

"YOOOU, MY DAHLIIINNNNG, YOOOUUH, HHMMMMM!"

"HOW CAN YOU SING SO LOUDLY?"

"Don't you like my singing?"

"NO."

"Oh. Really?" He asked, with his best puppy dog pout.

"Yes!"

"Or is it just Whitney?"

"No, it's you!"

"No- it must be Whitney." And then, without further ado:

"BABY, BABY, BABY,  
>BABY DON'T LEAVE ME!"<p>

"YOU ARE RIDICULOUSLY-"

"OOOOOOOHH, PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME, ALL BAH MAHSEILF!"

"WILLIAM!'

"I FEEL THIS YEAHNIN, BURHNIN, YEAHNIN, DEEP INSIIIIDE ME-"

"FOR GOD'S SAKE!"

"OOOH, DEEEP INSIIIIDE ME-"

"WILLIAM, PLEASE STOP SINGING!"

"Okay then- why didn't you just ask?" She glanced incredulously at him.

"Oh, goodness, Will!"

"Can I play with these?"

Not even glancing over, she nodded. Suddenly, she was hit with a blast of cold air. Spluttering, she blinked rapidly, and cast a brief confused look in the direction of the boy like man.

"The vents, Will? Really?" the intensity of the air increased, and she began shivering. And again, it grew stronger, and again, and again, until he hair was fluttering around her face, she squinted, trying to keep her eyes on the road, and prevent her eyeballs from drying out.

"WILLIAM!"

"Ooh! The temperature!"

"No, Will, no! Ackg!" The temperature in the car dropped to something colder than outside (which, considering the snow rushing past the windows, was extremely), and she cried out.

"The fan!"

"NO!" Her hair flew backwards, away from her face, and she screamed.

"WILLIAM TURN IT OFF!"

"We're here!" He announced cheerfully, as she slowed to a stop, and he promptly leaped out of the car.

At least, he might have, had the seat belt not snapped him back onto the seat like a mousetrap.

"YOUR SEAT BELT TRIED TO KILL ME!" He positively screamed, his voice reaching a worryingly high pitch. Sybil didn't respond, trying to beat her scarf away from her face, and turn off the fans.

* * *

><p>Tom stepped off the train, and Sybil's happiness level skyrocketed.<p>

"Thank God," She muttered, walking towards him, though a flash of William blocked the Irishman from view.

"TOM!" He bellowed, leaping at the aforementioned mechanic, and wrapping his legs around the elder man's waist. Tom dropped his bag, and stumbled slightly, compensating for the weight.

"Bloody hell, William!" He cried, ignoring the strange looks from passers by. Carefully, Sybil watched as he walked forwards, cautiously feeling around for any obstructions to his path, before coming level with Sybil.

"Hi!" he greeted, "I would kiss you, but…" His blue eyes swivelled down to where William's arm was obstructing his face. The limb's grip tightened, squashing Tom's nose.

"My Tom! All mine!" William announced, with a burst of evil laughter. "Mush!" He cried, pointing in the direction of the car.

"Look William!" Tom shouted, pointing in a distant direction. "It's Judy Dench!"

The manner, in which William shot off in the direction indicated, was not unlike a very eager puppy. As soon as he was gone, Tom strode forwards and collected Sybil in an embrace.

"I missed you so freaking much." He murmured, punctuating each word with a kiss.

"Tom!" She giggled. "I've been gone for twelve hours."

"Twelve very crappy hours."

"You are like a hormonal teenager!"

"What's so bad about that?"

"All the crying?"

"I'm too manly to cry."

"Oh, I'm sorry, didn't mean to insult your manhood." Sybil laughed, Tom spluttering slightly and turning red.

"Sybil- w-why are you- why would you even- that's not s topic for public- Sybil!"

"What?"

"Why had my genitals-"

"Who said anything about genitals?" Tom's features morphed into a scowl, thought the façade did not last for long, and he soon began to smile. He was about to retort, but a very angry William appeared beside them.

"That was really mean." He announced, before, with (what Sybil could have sworn was) a flick of his hair, he flounced back to the car.

"I suppose we'd better leave." She announced, sighing in resign.

"Why the long face?" Tom asked, as he retrieved his bag.

"You have a _treat_ in store for you."

"At Downton? Have they all grown fangs?"

"…You'll see."

* * *

><p>Five solo choruses of Rolling in the Deep, Gangham Style, You're the one that I Want (Grease), a disturbing rendition of La Vie enRose and High School Musical (why, lord?) later, they pulled outside Downton, William leaping from the vehicle (this time unhindered by the seat belt), and hurling himself into the house shrieking about saving Daisy from the angels, Tom and Sybil were thoroughly exhausted.<p>

"I suppose we should go in."

"I agree… or…"

"Or?"

"We could suddenly develop a case of bunburyism?"

"Let's go, Syb." They stepped out of the car, and into the cold air, hurrying inside.

"We're back!" Sybil announced, only to be met with a grunted 'Hello' from everybody else who were still staring intently at the-

"Statue." Sybil murmured in Tom's ear. "The nose fell off, and the Doctor Who creepies have gotten rather the better of everyone."

"Why?" Tom asked pointedly.

"Because it was spooky-"

"No, why is everybody freaking out, it can't move anyway."

"What?"

"The other statue bellow the stairs- the baby facing over the woman's shoulder is looking at it, like in the ending of _Blink_." It was true- from their angle at the door, it became much more obvious.

Twelve sets of incredulous eyes swivelled around to stare at Tom.

"I think we've been a bit heavy on the eggnog." John remarked.

"Is that why Papa's fallen asleep?" Mary enquired, poking the sleeping Earl.

From relatively beside Mr Carson, they heard the faintest of,

"For God's sake…"

* * *

><p>There was much less interrogation than Sybil had foreseen, and soon, dinner was over, and the entire patchwork family was sprawled on various padded surfaces of the modern converted living room (in the servant's quarters), in front of the Matrix, (a Crawley Christmas eve tradition) in a state of either consciousness or slumber (natural or alcohol induced), save for Violet, who was perched as elegantly as ever, clad in flowing silken trousers, and a dove grey cashmere twinset, reeking power. The silver tree's lights reflected around the darkened room bleakly illuminating the features, as the flickering light from the television was not all too reliable. On a stack of cushions on the floor, Sybil was contently curled in Tom's arms. Suddenly, Mary nudged Sybil with her toe, (made easy due to her position on the sofa) and giggled wickedly. Sybil observed her sister, mystified, for a moment, before glancing back at the television, and realisation dawned.<br>"Mary!" She cried, burying her face into Tom's vast bicep, a deep crimson flush spreading up her neck.

"What are you doing?" Cora enquired, far too lazy due to the great quantity of food she had consumed.

"It's Sybil one true love!" Mary crooned teasingly, before collapsing into a fit of giggles.

"What's this now?" Tom queried, jiggling his arm slightly, and stooping his head down to her level.

A pale blue eye stared back up at him, faltering slightly under his pointed gaze.  
>"When Sybil was a teenager, she had the biggest crush on him." Mary explained, pointing to the screen. Tom recoiled in horror.<p>

"The funky beard?"

"No!" Sybil cried, extracting her face from his bare arm (which she had been quite contentedly smelling up until then. Yes, creepy, whatever.), "No! Not him! Tank!"

"And tell him about when you were studying it at school." Anna requested, eyes shining with glee. Sybil glared at her for a moment, before turning back to Tom.

"Our teacher was answering questions about the film, in case we didn't understand anything, and I was confused as to how the guy with the funky beard could have been in the Matrix to make the deal with Elrond-"

"Hugo Weaving."

"Agent Smith."

"Do you want me to tell the story or not?"

"Right, sorry." Anna murmured.

"Anyway, I was confused, because I knew that Tank had to plug them in, and he would have known that the guy with the funky beard was in the Matrix.

"Though I could not, for the life of me, remember Tank's name. Though nobody understood what I was talking about, I wasn't expressing myself very well, and I was getting extremely frustrated, until they asked me to clarify what I was on about, where I said: 'How was it that the hot one didn't know that the one with the funky bear was in the Matrix?', rather- erm, loudly."

Tom chuckled, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, while the others burst into fits of mirth.

"And now tell him the rest." Sybil sighed, and wilted a little bit. Tom's arms clamped around her middle, and hoisted her up.

"And then my class mates got a bit… confused as to who I was talking about- they thought that I was referring to the guy with the beard as the hot one." She could feel Tom shaking with poorly repressed laughter. "Until I lost my temper, stood up and shouted- and not of my own free will, mind you, 'Tank is the hot one! Tank, I find him exceedingly attractive! Both his muscular build and technological capabilities are intriguing and sexy!' "

And, as the rest of the room cackled with laughter, Sybil groaned, and smothered her face with her hand.

"Oh, shut up the lot of you- haven't you ever said anything embarrassing?"

"Not like that, my dear, not like that." Granny crowed.

"Though embarrassing statements can be intriguing." Matthew supplied.

"And sexy." Daisy finished, with a joking flick of her eyebrow.

"Oh, sod off the lot of you- I'm going to continue smelling my boyfriend's arm." As she broke Tom's grip and slipped down to her previous smelling point, the room suddenly fell into silence. The arm her nose was pressed against tensed.

"What did you just say?" John asked, blinking.

"Don't." Was all she said, before the room exploded into a rapture of amusement. She cringed, and shrunk inwardly. She felt another kiss pressed to her curls from above, and she felt the familiar warmth spreading through her. Snuggling contentedly into his arms, she sighed happily. The arm that wasn't being spooned by her face moved, as it reached around behind him, fumbled for something in the back pocket of the wearer's snug fitting jeans, and then returned.

"Shh." Tom whispered in her ear, as he pressed a small, hard object into her palm. "Merry Christmas- I know it's not much, but I wanted to-"

Sybil turned back and kissed him lingeringly on the lips.

"Merry Christmas." She whispered.

In return for the six pack of underwear with characters from Sesame Street prinked on them (they had decided fun. Fun was always good), a cool metal picture frame had been deposited to her, bearing a block of finely water coloured text.

'_Miss Crawley, __My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you__.'_

"I mean it, you know."

She couldn't help but grin.

"I know."

* * *

><p><em><strong>MERRY CHRISTMAS!<br>Christmas at Downton! :D Sorry it's so sloppy and unedited- it's almost eleven on Christmas night, and I'm being ordered to go to bed!  
>Thank you for all your darling support!<br>Please review- it's Christmas! Xx**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**I own nothing.  
>No offence intended towards Hipsters!<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Tom, the bed's on fire." Sybil announced, her tone dripping with boredom. As a result, Tom yelped and sat bolt upright, breathing heavily.<p>

"What was that for?" He cried, after having ascertained that Sybil's bed was indeed, not ablaze.

"I just wanted to get your attention." He gazed at her incredulously for a moment. "And yes, it was the best way."

"Best-"

"Or maybe more effective."

Tom snorted in an attempt to hide the fact that he was actually amused, though had no desire to be at three in the morning. He leaned back into the bed head, and turned to look at her.

"So now you've kicked me half to buggery, and told me the bed's on fire, I'm awake. What's wrong- are you pregnant?" He cried, jumping slightly at the sudden prospect.

"What? No! I want to talk about something!"

"Oh, alright then." She rolled her eyes and poked him affectionately in the side. Shifting onto her shoulder, she looked up at him emphatically.

"You won't talk about personal things. You won't introduce me to your friends, the only family I've met of yours is your no knickers and all knockers sister-"  
>"What?"<p>

"Are you kidding me? They're _enormous_!"

"Sybil, I don't even want to think about my sister's breasts, leave alone talk about them!" She couldn't help but chuckle slightly.

"Fair enough. But you, you've met my friends; you've met my parents, my grandmother and been to my family home. I don't know a thing about your family aside from the fact that they're Irish and dedicated science fiction fans, and your brother is really good at voices! You won't tell me about the scar, you won't tell me about your family, your schooling, and only the briefest of hints as to the fact that you even _had_ a child hood, all you ever talk about is work- are you ashamed of me-?"

"No!" He roared, leaping off the bedhead, and perching himself sideways on the mattress, a tender hand resting on her shoulder. "Never," he breathed, caressing her pale flesh with a calloused thumb, the gentle touch sending shivers down her spine. "I could never be ashamed of you, Sybil."

She smiled to herself, and scooted closer to him.

"Okay, so talk."

He chuckled and settled back into his pillows, rolling onto his side to face her.

"Well, as you know, I was born in Ireland. Or, to be more specific, on the floor of the kitchen of our old house in Dowley street. It's one of those old brownstones, always been a Branson in eighteen Dowley street since Adam were a boy, apparently."

"On the floor? Gross!" She remarked in a childish tone.

"Rather. I've got two sisters and three brothers, I'm the youngest of the boys, there's Kieran, Collin, then me, and then there's Sarah and Maggie-"

"Oh my God," Sybil interrupted, pressing a hand to her cheek.

"What? What's wrong?"

"You're Tom, Tom Baker, Sarah's Sarah Jane!"

"And Collin's-"

"Collin Baker?"

"So Ma claims. But she's got a real soft spot for Colin Firth."

"And who's the youngest?"

"Maggie, she's fourteen now."

"And your mother?"

"Brenda. She's amazing."

"Mummy's boy?" She teased.

"Oh, shush, you."

"And your Dad? Philimon, wasn't it?"

"He passed away when I was nine, he was… rather politically active."

"Oh, Tom!" She breathed.

"I didn't want to tell you, I don't really like talking-" It didn't escape her notice that he was gently caressing the scar on his arm, the one she'd seen when they first met. She rested her palm on his cheek.

"It's fine, I would understand why."

"I'm sorry that you've been wandering around not knowing-"

She silenced him with a kiss.

"Don't tell me until you're sure."

"I'm sure."

* * *

><p><em>A hacking cough wracked Tom Branson's nine year old chest. He was a pudgy child, the subject of merciless teasing at school, so he, for one was actually rather glad to be ill. He loved his beanbag. It was cosy and comfortable, and the blanket spread across his legs and cuddled into his chest provided a source of warmth. He was intently watching cartoons, while his brothers were at school, his mother was working and his father was minding him- though he wasn't doing a very good job. He was in his tool shed, working on something that none of the boys were allowed to see. At least he had been- now he was standing in the doorway to the sitting room hefting a gym bag and smelling like pub. <em>

"_Tommy! Come with your ol' Daddy!" He said, very loudly and not quite properly. Tom obediently clambered out of his beanbag, and made to pull his coat from the rack, but was whisked out of the door before he could do such a thing. The drive over was frankly dangerous, the car was swerving about and scraping the paint from other cars, until finally it pulled up in the town centre. Da was always a good driver, what was going on?_

"_Tommy," his father slurred to the worried boy. "Tommy, I'm gone –hic- gone change the fucking world." And with that, he stumbled out of the car, gym bag in tow. Curious as to what he was going to do, Tom followed cautiously. His Dad was scary, and there was something wrong. He sneaked around the car, and slid behind a concrete bollard. Beside the fountain in the middle of the plaza, his Dad was swinging the gym bag, as if to throw it, when suddenly- _

_The force threw Tom backwards, and he watched in horror as the family station wagon was hurled past him, smacking into some more concrete bollards, one of which toppled over and landed painfully on his arm, effectively trapping him-_

"_Da!" He shouted. "Da, help me!" _

_Da's voice didn't reply. _

"_Da, Da help!" When no response came, he glanced around, and cried out at what he saw. There were upturned paving slabs, and fire, and screaming people, and a figure where Da had been._

"_DA!" Tom bellowed, attracting attention. "DA, HELP ME! DA, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? DA!"_

_Painfully, he wrenched his arm from the pillar. The pain was intense, and he screamed, blood spurting and dripping as he stumbled towards his father. _

"_DA!" He screamed, as tears poured down his cheeks. "Oh, god, Da! Da!"_

* * *

><p>Tom's face was blank, and devoid of emotion.<p>

"Tom…" she whispered, searching his face for feelings, any feeling. "Is that where…?" She asked, gently tracing the outline of the jagged pink line with her fingers. Tom nodded, exhaled shakily.

"I love you so fucking much. You know that, don't you?" She nodded.

"And I love you too."

"It all comes down to love, doesn't it?" He whispered. "The rest, the rest is detail."

They lay in silence for a while, neither really knowing what to say. Sensing that the story was playing on his mind, she decided to hastily change the subject.

"Well, go on the, nieces and nephews? Cousins?"

"None from any of us. Sixteen cousins, twenty four little 'uns." He replied, seemingly glad for the distraction.

* * *

><p>Fifty eight friends and relations later, Sybil was content with knowledge, and while it was still dark outside, the rush and bustle of corporate life was rearing its busy head from slumber.<p>

"Thank you for sharing." Their tones had been hushed, smothered by the night and the intimacy of the bed, and now was no exception. "I'm sorry for doubting you."

"I'm sorry for causing-"

"Oh, stop it, you." She teased, before leaning in and kissing him again. He responded only too happily. She moaned longingly as they parted.

"Is it wrong that I really want to shag you right now?" She asked. Tom laughed, and beneath her palms she could feel his chest rumble.

"We've been talking for almost two hours stark naked, I wouldn't say so."

"We're not stark naked! There's the sheet!"

"Ah, the sheet." Tom said, in fondness. "The things it's seen."

Sybil laughed as she slipped her arm around to rest at his lower back.

"Want to add to the pile?" She whispered.

"I like the way you think, Miss Crawley." He replied, rolling over and pressing her into the mattress. "I like the way you think."

* * *

><p>"Irish Breakfast, how very fitting." Sybil murmured appreciatively into her mug of tea.<p>

"Mind out of the gutter, you!"

"Not what I was talking about."

"Ah."

Sybil smiled contentedly as Tom leaned back on the pillows, his muscular chest and broad shoulders-

"Stop perving, Sybil!"

She laughed the laugh of a naughty child, and leaned over her handsome boyfriend in order to retrieve her phone from the bedside table, while holding her cup steady, and skilfully ensuring that not a drop escaped and marked the white linen.

"Tom, can you please pass my phone?" He mocked in an extremely nauseating falsetto, before switching to a much deeper version of his usual incredibly sexy Irish brogue. "Of course my dear, here you go." And back to the pistachio cracking pitch "Thank you darling, how positively convenient, and not at all illogical."

"You're very passive aggressive, you know." She remarked, having found her aforementioned phone, swooping down briefly to peck his lips, being met, upon departure of her mouth from his, with her favourite cheeky smirk. Switching her phone on, she drank deeply from her mug, scrolling through her messages and missed calls.

"You reckon that they'd leave me alone once in a while." She murmured, "Is that a splodge of gum?" She asked, showing Tom the received picture on the screen.

"I believe so- where is it?" He asked, frowning slightly.

"…William's arse."

"What?" Tom yelped, leaping away from the phone. "William's ar- why? Who sent- _why?_"

"Calm down, it's not that unusual of an occurrence!" Tom paused for a moment, a dead silence slamming down about them.

"I'm not sure exactly what's so worrying about that sentence- the fact that, after seeing a purely disgusting image, which, by the way I will not be able to get out of my mind, even when I'm old and wrinkly like Gollum, you expect me to be calm, or the fact that it's a common occurrence!"

"Oh, check your messages." She snapped playfully, tossing him his Nokia.

"Five missed calls from Ma!" Tom groaned, rolling over and burying his face into the pillows, she watched as one muscular toned arm flung itself from beneath his broad form, and groped about on the bedside table for his glasses.

Smart spectacles, he called them. Black, tortoiseshell thick frames- like David Tennant, only more natural. His sister had loudly announced that her brother was loitering in the doorway of becoming a hipster, and promptly proceeded to scream the house down, in a very civilized fashion.

Tossing her own legs over his, and reclining back on the mattress, she heard the noise of the digits being dialled, and the tension as he waited for the receiver to pick up.

"Ma?"

Pause.

"I know you called me, that's why I'm calling you- sorry Ma. Yes Ma. Aw, Ma!" He suddenly whined. "Do I have to? I'm twenty six years old!"

Sybil leaned up on her elbow, and raised her eyebrow at him. He sighed loudly, and nodded. "Oh, fine." He looked at Sybil, pointed a finger and mouthed _'Don't you dare mock me!'_ before reciting the following: "I must not be rude, for if I am, the spirit of a disembodied old person will rise from the grave and shout at me." She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle an untimely giggle. His mother hardly needed to know that her son was in bed with a woman, with no clothes on.

The mysterious woman didn't really protest to the latter of these revelations.

"Easter?" More silence, while the voice on the other end of the line garbled a response. "Yes, Ma, I'm familiar with the holiday." He sighed again. "I must not be rude, for if I am, the spirit of a disembodied old person will rise from the grave and shout at me."

"Well, some friends and I were looking forwards to laying an Easter egg hunt for our friend William, but-" He flinched as his mother shouted at him, followed quickly by- "No, Ma! Of course I do Ma! Well- No, he's twenty one- well who doesn't like Easter eggs?" She continued to laugh, stifling her face in a pillow.

"Of course I'll be there. Mmhm. I don't know," He suddenly sat up, and pulled the pillow from Sybil's face. "I don't know," he repeated pointedly, looking her straight in the eye. "Will I be bringing anybody to Ireland for Easter?"

Meet Tom's family? Meet all the Doctors and Companions and the small army of children?

Hell yes! She nodded enthusiastically grinning like a small child on Christmas morning, until her cheeks began to ache, at which point she finally stopped.

"Yes, Ma, yes I will be."

* * *

><p>"You're going <em>why,<em> exactly?" Mary asked, in her usual icy tone, handing Sybil an evening dress on a hanger. Sybil's packing for Ireland had been crashed by Mary, and turned into a party- Mary handing Sybil clothing, which was being pointedly put aside from the less ostentatious piles stacked on the bed beside the case (of Sybil's choosing).

"To meet the family of the man that I love."

"Urgh." Mary muttered. "I still can't believe you're already saying it."

"Neither can I." Sybil trilled in a falsely dreamy tone, to which her sister responded by rolling her eyes fondly.

"And where will you stay?"

"At Tom's mother's, where he grew up."

"Will you get mugged?"

"What? No!" Sybil cried.

"No need to shout, I'm just checking- we don't know what it's like around there."

"Oh, Mary." The two sisters continued to fold and pack, then unpack what the other had packed, and pack something else in the previous item's place.

"Mary," Sybil began tentatively, lowering her hands to her lap, and picking nervously at the tag of the tank top she was holding. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sybil, please don't do that!" Mary shrieked, tossing her arms up in the air to emphasize her point. "You just did, why not just ask what you really wanted to ask in the first place?"

"Whatever, look, you and Matthew, and the whole, -" She was cut off by Mary's impatient huff.

"We're seeing a specialist, it's just taken a while to… get up the courage." Sybil nodded understandingly, empathetically reaching out and taking her sister's hand.

"I understand. It'd be a scary thing to go through, such a major part of your lives decided just like that and-"  
>"What?" Mary cut in. "No, I was more worried about the actual examination, and Matthew really didn't want to fondle himself-"<p>

"That's enough." Sybil broke in. "Let's talk about something else."

"Alright. Did you get that picture last week of William-"

"Oh, yes. How did he get gum there?"

"He seems to think it was a park bench."

A cry of horror tore its self from Sybil's mouth, and Mary nodded in agreement.

"I know!"

"That's disgusting!"  
>"I know! Some people have no care for council property- spitting gum on a seat! How positively disrespectful!" Sybil's mouth was hanging open in a cocktail of horror and incredulousness.<p>

"William was sitting- for some reason than I both can and will not fathom- on a park bench, a public place, mind you, with his bare butt, and all you care about is that some random spat gum there first!"

"Well, it's William, what do you expect of him?"

"I never thought he'd be one for ditching trousers entirely!"

"Oh, come now, he might not have been taking a leap into naturism, he might have been… well, I don't know, but-"

"But what?" Sybil interjected. "Been wearing a miniskirt? Or trousers with a bum flap?"

They lapsed into silence for a brief moment.

"Is it worrying that that sounds entirely plausible, for him?"

* * *

><p>Sybil could barely sleep for excitement.<p>

She'd been to France, Italy, Germany, Thailand, Switzerland, Belgium, Spain, Scotland, Sweden, China, India, America, Columbia, Greece, New Zealand, Japan, and Ethiopia.

Travel was possibly the one thing about her parent's wealth and position that Sybil fully appreciated.

Though she'd somehow seemed to have missed Ireland entirely- until tomorrow, that was, when she'd meet all of Tom's family- the mysterious brother with the voices, and the amazing mother, and the swarm of children.

And she was not nervous. Not at all. She was not going to trip over. She was not going to injure anybody else, as she was _not_ going to trip over.

What if Brenda and Sarah and Aunt Delores and Aunt Minerva, and Aunt May, and Aunt Josephine and cousin Lucy and Barbs and Molly and Julia and Clara and Caroline and Mia and the elder nieces Lou and Stella cornered her and started gossiping about sex? Like the others did when Matthew was dating Lavinia, while Sybil had stood on in embarrassed horror.

What if Tom's brother's interrogated him about it?

And then laughed at her?

What if he told them about the first time?

No, he wouldn't tell.

And if he did, she'd cut him.

But he wouldn't.

She rolled over once more, and spied her outfit for their early morning departure hanging from the wardrobe door, though her mood lightened somewhat when she remembered the packing fiasco…

* * *

><p>"<em>Mary, no! I don't need those, you weird pervert!" Sybil cried, ripping the more…ostentatious undergarments from her sister's hands, and tossing them across the room. <em>

"_Sybil, you never know, they may come in handy!"_

"_Mary, we're staying in the family home! Where his mother is! And _children!_"_

"_But you might… go for a bit of an excursion."_

"_We're there to meet his family, not the other thing!"_

"_Haven't you talked about it?"_

"_NO!"_

"_Really?" Mary asked, puzzled. "Matthew and I do, when we go places."_

"_You plan your shags?"_

"_It only makes sense! That way one can prepare."_

"_Oh, gross."_

"_It's always polite to go the extra mile." Mary concluded, fetching the offending garments and patting them bossily between other stacks of clothing. _

"_No, that's not necessary!" Sybil snapped, attempting to yank them free of the case, only to have the ever-persistent Mary hold pointedly to the other end of the bundle. _

"_But it is!"  
>"No, no it's not!"<em>

_All most in synchronicity, both sisters pulled both ends of the bundle at the same time, each parting with a separate end of the ensemble. In response, Sybil went to fling the pants at her sister, while Mary, who had never been particularly athletically gifted in the department of flying objects, threw the top half at Sybil, who caught it and threw it back, only to have the underwear thrown back at her. _

_All too soon, both of them were laughing like mad, throwing the set back and forth between them, too caught up to notice the noise of the key scraping in the lock until-_

"_Tom!" Mary cried, reeling backwards in horror from her position on the floor, in sight of her sister's beloved, leaning against the kitchen counter and smirking in amusement, the pants having been ferociously hurled in his direction only moments before, and having landed on his shoulder._

"_I'm sorry, but you were having such fun, I didn't want to stop you- I wasn't entirely sure if that was a regular occurrence-"_

"_No, it is not, thank you very much-"_

"_No, Mary," Tom interjected patiently, "Not the underwear, _you_."_

"_Me?"_

"_You laughed."_

_Mary scowled, while Sybil (also on the floor) smirked. Tom turned to Sybil and tossed the pants to her. _

"_Nice hairdo." He teased, as he rounded the bench into the kitchen, while her hands flew to her head and realising that the bra was stuck in her hair. After some struggle, she turned to her sister. _

"_Mary," she whispered. _

"_What's wrong, darling?"_

"_The hooks are stuck." In much vain and chipped nail polish on Mary's part, the mess was still there. _

"_I'm sorry, but we're going to have to go to the-"_

"_DON'T YOU DARE SAY HAIR DRESSER!" Sybil screamed, causing Tom to fumble with the coffee canister. _

"_Tom! Can you help?"_

* * *

><p>Sybil shrank into the bedclothes as Paulo's judgmental stare passed through her mind's eye…<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Eep! It's been a while, hasn't it! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season, we're still off school down here, and I was hoping to update more frequently before we go back.<br>And that worked out well, hmm? ;)**_

_**Thank you for your support, last chapter's reviews and favourites and follows were a wonderful Christmas present indeed! **_

_**Speaking of which, you know the routine, please review and tell me what you think, because I'm, reviewing my writing style (a bore beyond all bores, I know), but I want to know if I should focus on more feelings rather than actions, and if I'm being to crass with my language.**_

_**Thank you lovies! Please review! Xx**_


	13. Chapter 13

**_Apologies for the wait. Turns out the year of preparation for the year of preparation for our VCE exams is spectacularly busy. Thank you for your help with this chapter (and happy birthday for the 14th!)._**

* * *

><p><em>I will not trip over, I will not trip over, I will not trip over, I will not-<em>

"Sorry 'bout that love, been meaning to fix that step for a while now." Tom's Uncle Dermot apologized, as Tom hauled Sybil to her feet, while she attempted to stem the blood flow that was running down her upper lip. In the hallway of Tom's childhood home, a small child darted past her, Tom and Uncle Dermot, tore a fistful of tissues from the box on the coat stand, passed them to a bloody Sybil, and sped off in the direction he or she had come.

"So, love, come and meet everyone!" Uncle Dermot encouraged, gripping her elbow and dragging her forth, carving through the steady stream of Bransons, until the three of them emerged into the kitchen (with three toddlers happily hanging off Uncle Tommy's legs), and Sybil felt fourteen pairs of cynical female eyes swivel about and stare at her with near on x ray vision.

"Ma!" Tom cried; oblivious to the tension as he strode forwards with open arms (and a various assortment of children swinging from his legs), to embrace the front most woman of the crowd.

"Tommy! How handsome you are!" Cooed Brenda, pinching his son's cheeks, though the wad of tissues in front of Sybil's mouth disguised her smile at the elder woman's words.

"Ma," Tom interjected in a tired voice. "Why do you do that every time I bring a girl home?"

"Because I'm your wingman." Brenda replied in a natural tone of voice, ignoring her son's eyebrows shooting up into his hairline in astonishment as she smirked cheekily when her back was to him, as she came to stand in front of Sybil.

"Goodness, what in the name of all that is holy happened to you? You must be Sybil, I'm Brenda, Tom's Ma, we've heard a lot about you- he doesn't shut up actually, it's sweet when it isn't sickening- no offense intended dear. Let's have a look at this nose of yours," here she forcefully removed the bloody tissues from Sybil's face, and inspected the carnage. "Seems to be alright, only a bit of a bump there- my boys used to do much worse- eh Tommy? Here love, wash your face off." And here Brenda scrubbed roughly at Sybil's nose and mouth with a rag hanging from her apron smock pocket.

"Ma, let her breathe!" Tom's voice spoke from somewhere in the depths of the kitchen.

"Here, don't you be talking down to me, Tommy. You lot, clear out! You too Dermot, go and fix that damned step- go on then, all of you, get yourselves away, I'll finish the rest- go on, go! Go and knit or something! Except Lou and Stella- you two go and talk to those boys in the alley out back." When two enraged squawks of protest were the only response from the two teenagers, Brenda rolled her eyes pointedly. "Don't think I haven't noticed- how stupid do you think your Nana is? Off with you!"

All inhabitants of the kitchen filed out, save for Tom, Sybil and the figure before them who was both somehow both motherly and terrifying at the same time, and currently herding them into chairs side by side on the long kitchen table, where a bucket of potatoes and a peeler was put before Tom, and a knife and a separate bucket of peas was looming over Sybil.

"Well go on then, you two! Get to it!" Obediently, the couple began peeling/shelling in a companionable silent manner.

"So, Sybil. What do you do?"

"Well, I'm just beginning my premed, and I'm close to finishing my Historical Politics unit."

"Oh! How wonderful- Tommy, not now!" Brenda finished in a snap, her son's form slumping slightly, visible from the corner of Sybil's eye.

"What's the matter with you?" She asked quietly.

"Don't mind him love, he'll be fine soon enough." At this, Tom's head snapped up like a hopeful puppy with a slightly maniacal grin. "Not now- peel boy, peel!" Brenda cried in exasperation, waving her wooden spoon in the air to emphasise her point. "So you're interested in becoming a doctor, eh?" She asked, turning back to Sybil.

"I am- I like the idea of helping people and all that and saving lives, that sort of thing, but I'm also quite excited at the idea of being able to walk into a room and tell people that I'm the doctor." At this, Brenda paused her stirring and craned her neck to face Sybil in silence. "Figured I'd keep a sonic screwdriver in the med bag just for fun…"

Brenda's stare was un readable for a long moment, before she turned to Tom and pointed her spoon at him threateningly.

"You hold on to this woman, Tommy. And you never let go." Sybil smiled at her hands, and continued shelling. "Speaking of women- where's your sister?"

"She came with us- probably hiding upstairs for some mad- ack!"

Both women turned their heads to look at Tom, who was currently leaning to the side of his chair to remove something from his back pocket. "Why is your vibrate up so high? It almost blew my ar-"

"Tommy!"  
>"Back side off!" Sybil rolled her eyes and took her phone from him, declining the call from William and placing it into her lap.<p>

"Why is your phone in my pocket anyway?" He asked, his brow crinkling.

"Because she wanted an excuse to grope you, remember." Sarah reminded him from the kitchen door.  
>"Sarah!"<p>

"Hi Ma, bye Ma. I'll be around-"

"Sarah Eloise Branson-" Brenda began in a commanding tone, before Sarah cut in.  
>"THESE TWO SNOG IN AIRPORTS AND FEEL EACH OTHER UP IN TAXIS!" She shouted, before diving out of the room faster than an extremely fast thing, leaving a highly embarrassed Tom and Sybil in her wake. Sinking slightly in her chair, Sybil threw herself into shelling peas with a determined ferocity.<p>

"How long have been seeing each other?" Brenda asked awkwardly, in an attempt to fill the silence.  
>"A few months now- Sybil, your phone." Declining the call (this time from Edith), and feeling her phone vibrate briefly indicating that she had several new messages, she switched it off and slid it into her pocket, the process made none the easier with the silicone case.<p>

"Oh! And anything interesting going on in England?"

"Some of our friends are getting married next month, another couple may be pregnant and my sister's going out with a fifty year old."

"Peeled Ma." Tom announced happily, tilting the bucket forwards for her to see.

"Good boy, Tommy. Run along now."  
>And then Sybil's fantastic Irish love leaped enthusiastically from his chair and ran from the room with an enthusiastic glee.<p>

"What is he…?" Sybil asked, bewildered.

"You'll see soon enough." Brenda assured kindly, taking the opportunity awarded by her son's absence to sit across the table from Sybil. "All social niceties aside- is my daughter letting that hairy freak stick it to her?"

Sybil recoiled slightly, fumbling with the knife and dropping it. As she scrambled to catch it, the blade sliced the pad of her thumb slightly and she hissed.

"Which hairy freak? Some of the people who hang around their apartment look a bit like a population of gorillas."

"The ginger one."

"What- Jeff?" Sybil asked, surprised. At Brenda's enthusiastic nod, Sybil lowered her eyes and raised her thumb to her lips in attempt to stem the small dribble of blood. "I'd love to help but I don't think Sarah would appreciate it much."

Brenda eyed her for a long uncomfortable moment before nodding in resignation.

"Fair enough- though you do know I'll find out?"

"I have no doubt."

Brenda simply grunted in response, and checked Sybil's bucket.

"Alright, off you pop. Tommy will be in the garage out back. Mind you don't startle Lou and Stella, but!"

Sybil nodded in a shell shocked manner and made her way through the small courtyard (around assorted snogging teenaged couples) and into the old brick garage where she saw Tom polishing the headlights of a car.

"Hello, there." She greeted warmly, perching herself on a step.

"Oh hello! Don't touch the car."

She nodded into the silence.

"Okay. Er- why?"

"You know how I told you about my young loves?"

"Oh God, you did them all in the car, didn't you?"

"Heavens no! Not precious Mabel! I would never expose her to that!" Sybil thought for a moment, her mouth opening in dawning realisation.  
>"This… is Mabel?" She asked incredulously, gesturing to the metro mini before her. "Your entire love life from age fourteen?" Tom smiled fondly and patted the car bonnet with gracious love.<p>

"Doesn't she have a lovely figure? Oh, those curves… what a set of headlights…"

"Tom Branson! This was your first girl friend?" Tom moved forwards, pointing at her in warning.

"Don't you objectify Mabel, Syb. She is a _woman_, and she has _feelings_." Sybil eyed him with concern, but his growing cheeky smile soon gave him away.

"Oh my God…" she muttered, with a smirk as Tom pulled her into an embrace (his shoulders shaking with laughter). "Headlights, really?"

"Oh, it was right there!" and after a moment, "Did Ma grill you?"

"Only about whether Sarah was 'letting that hairy freak stick it to her'."

"Did you tell her?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I've been receiving calls from… well everyone since I turned my phone back on."

"Really?" she asked, curiosity plucked. "About what?"

"A lot of screaming." He rubbed his ear in pain. "Especially from William." Sybil laughed and sighed.

"I think I want to know, but at the same time I really don't."

"Well I think it's kind of important. They've even tried reaching Sarah- and you know how much she scares some of them!" he remarked, returning to the car and hoisting up the bonnet.

"Wow… have they really?"

"Oh yeah!" came Sarah's voice. Sybil jumped and looked to the source of the noise, to see Sarah's brunette emerging from a surprisingly not dusty duffel bag, stuffed unceremoniously in the rafters.

"Oh good heavens…" Sybil murmured, as arms and shoulders climbed out as well. "Have you been in here since we arrived?"

"It's been mine and Tommy hideout since we were little. Always stocked with water, comic books and oreos."

"Oh… isn't it a bit… of an unsafe location?"

"Not in the least." She said, her right arm retracting into the bag, and pulling out a battered blue box labelled _Oreos_. "Want one?" But with a small cry the box slipped from her fingers, which Sybil neatly caught.

"2003? That's disgusting."

"Ooh! Vintage! Toss back up!" Sarah demanded.

When the box was back in her grasp, her familiar ringtone sounded and she muttered a curse, answering it.

"Oh, goodness, not you again. I've already told you I don't understand your screaminess!" She listened for a long moment, and rolled her eyes. "No, your sister is sucking up to my mother for approval, she doesn't want to talk to you! Piss off!"

She hung up and stashed her phone in her undergarment and flipped her hair (though it remained hanging towards the floor, from her position in the roof), frowning at Sybil.

"The scary thing is, I think it was either the scary girl or the bloke with the walking stick."

"Just how long are you planning on staying up there?"

"For as long as Tom agrees to keep smuggling me food, or until I have to pee."

* * *

><p>"This is mad." Sybil squealed with soft joyfulness, as another toddler toppled head over heels across the sofa, bouncing off the cushions scattered across the floor.<p>

"Ah, don't worry about them, love. We Bransons are a tough lot." Came a melodic voice from behind her. Beside her, she saw Tom flinch, and she frowned in confusion before turning around. Behind her, was seemingly another Tom- except for the green eyes, the impossibly smooth skin, over waxed and polished muscles clearly visible through his tight polo and blonde curls envied possibly by only Luna Lovegood and Danerys Targuaren themselves.

"Hello." She greeted politely, extending her hand- though she was not entirely expecting him to grasp it between both of his own and bring it to his mouth, brushing the skin of her hand softly with his lips.

"Colin Branson, at your service. So you're Tommy's girl, eh?"

"Er- yes." She greeted, unnerved by his terrifying perfection.

"Not even God himself know what my little brother had to do to get you to go out with him, I suppose?" he said with a laugh. At this he ruffled the hair of an increasingly irritated Tom, who cursed roughly and stood up, batting his brother's hand away.

"Not in front of the lady, Tom!" Colin purred smoothly, placing a firm hand on Sybil's shoulder. Tom glared at him for a long moment, before casting her a dark look and storming away past the dish washing line of aunts to the courtyard.

"What was that?" she asked in surprise, wriggling to relieve her self of his grip, but failing spectacularly.

"Oh, don't mind Tommy. Just a bit sour."

"I beg your pardon?"

"An old tiff over the… fairer sex." He clarified, with a light chuckle. Sybil raised an eyebrow.

"It didn't seem so trivial to him."

"He was just over reacting to wounds that healed a long, _long_ time ago." There was this time a creepy wink. She was beginning to feel spectacularly uncomfortable, and using both of her hands removed his own.

"He asked." She said as politely as she could.

"Ya what?"

"To get me to go out with him. He asked."

Tearing her hands away from his, she cast him a suspicious glance and followed in the direction Tom had headed in- though in the process bumped into a preteen (Neve, she recalled) who beckoned her over. Veering off course she did just that and met the girl who stood with her twin (Tobias) in a corner.

"This is for Sarah." Neve said, passing the bundle of serviettes holding some substance of food. "And I nicked these off Stella for her- Sarah's always been terrible at keeping up; not to mention that she's already had one scare with Jeff-"

"What?"

"I feel it's only fair to mention," Tobias put in, "that we've already taken some polaroids of you and Colin to use against you in the future." She opened her mouth to protest, but he calmly cut her off "it's standard procedure."

"Oh- uh… alright."

"In case you were wondering," Neve said, placing a restraining hand on her twin's shoulder, "Colin stole Tom's past two girlfriends. That's why he got cross."

Dawning comprehension soon became a gnawing concern, and she glanced at the kitchen door.

"So you'd better go… and answer the calls from either of your two sisters, cousin, married friends and engaged couple, soon wont you? They've got important news."

She blinked.

"How did you…?"

"We know a lot of things." They replied in synchronicity, before disappearing seemingly into thin air (which revealed to be the hallway cupboard).

Though slightly unnerved by the contact with the twins, she scooted briskly through the kitchen and emerged into the garage once again.

"Your brother scares me. Charming bloke. But scary." Sybil announced casually, "Sarah- I have some… things from the twins." Placing them in the wicker basket being lowered on a string of plaited hair ribbons.

"Are these…?"

"Don't even." Sybil intoned.

"So… Colin?" Tom prompted, from his place leaning against the back door.

"Oh. Yes. His hair is really soft."

"He hit on you?"

"Yes."

"Oh. And did you…?"

"What?" Sybil asked, in faux amusement. "Agree to go to the pub with him? Eh? Quicky in the alley? Snog in your childhood home?"

"Don't do the alley thing. The neighbours called the cops." Sarah advised from the rafters.

"So, you didn't?" Tom asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Of course not you daft arse!" She snapped. "I love you, remember?" He grinned and went to hug her, but she batted his hands away. "Don't touch me." She muttered, stomping towards the door.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

"To answer my phone!" she snapped, "Got a problem with that?"

And so she did. She listened to every single one of her sixty eight voicemails in the back alley, the sounds of merriment escaping from the brownstone building behind her.

And when she had finished listening, she thought over what she had just heard, and felt sick.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Please review! Xx<strong>_


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